


6 degrees of Fucked

by sketzocase



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Weapon X (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Parenting, Bratting, Car Sex, Demon Sex, Demons, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/F, Gay Panic, Hungover, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Immortality, Immortals, Internalized Homophobia, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Married Couple, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Road Trips, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Strippers & Strip Clubs, fake ids, fuck buddies, invented pasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketzocase/pseuds/sketzocase
Summary: Out of all the things in this world we can universally agree on, not wanting to see your family members in a sex club is pretty high up on the list.
Relationships: Azazel/Mephisto, Azazel/Raven | Mystique (X-Men), Daken Akihiro/Bobby Drake/Johnny Storm, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin, Logan/Kurt Wagner, Quentin Quire/Evan Sabahnur, Victor Creed/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Raise of hands- who knows what happened?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! I'm not gonna bore ya with a long intro.  
> What I have to tell you is that the terms used in the tags for the BDSM aspects and Bratting (in particular) are not as they are IRL as they involve regenerators and demons who don't really fit the human def. and therefore they will be loosely based on IRL but not at all factual in that way.  
> So, this is a warning that the things used within this fic are in line with characters. Obviously I do not mean to imply that BDSM relationships are demonic and dangerous or that Bratting involves stabbing your lover's enemies.  
> Just a heads up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For notes, these chapters are released in batches of 3. there are 12 narratives to go through and some random non-character specific chaps strewn in between, but mostly, when updated, it will be as it is now and done in 3's.

**SHIELD Safehouse 148- processing and interplanetary reporting and filing.**

**Sunday Evening**

Throughout the last fifty years or so there’s been this common Hollywood idealization of the ULTIMATE party. That ULTIMATE night out. The weekend to end ALL weekends. The experience that fathers will be telling their sons about while working on cars and sprinting straight into liver failure. It's that story- that **_ultimate_** story- that will silence all others, submitting its owner firmly into the hall of fame of getting fucked up. The holy grail of debauchery. The crown of envy amongst the endless crowds of the partying masses. 

Hollywood keeps shoving the idea into the minds of anyone who happens to consume any sort of media- so basically, everyone.

It sets this idea- this suggestion- as a goal, almost. Urging a person to be as wild and crazy as they've seen on the silver screen. 

In reality, all of this is just an endless stream of repetitive stories being rebranded and remade with newer faces and more popular pop soundtracks. The stories are highly predictable and bring nothing new or 'special' to the table. And yet? There it is- the idea of that golden experience being shoved down the consumer's throats. Over and over again. 

Think about it here- really think about it. College movies, highschool movies- there’s a never-ending book of tropes and cliches they use to try and show the best most insanely over the top party experience that one could possibly ever experience. If you think about it- this is the best free marketing alcohol brands can have. And they don't even have to put any effort into it! It's just there!

Do you want examples? Look at movies like 'The Hangover'. The term 'hangover' already suggests large amounts of alcohol consumption. The movie itself, while being one of the more funny modern takes on the 'party-goer' genre pushes this narrative of enjoying the ultimate party and the crazy things that happened the morning after their descent into 'epicness'. What a high standard to set! But be honest- if you woke up in a tiger in your bathroom you would have fainted on the spot. Or been mauled. If you lost an entire person? You would be on the phone with the cops INSTANTLY. 

Yes, there is the demand in all media that you should suspend your disbelief. But honestly- how many drunk frat boys are going to think like that when seeing these things? More examples? Let's move on to those old 80’s era teen movies that seem to bring nostalgia to the mind of older folks. Yes- underage parties happen. But no. No - they don’t happen like that. Not to mention the overwhelming presence of sexual situations that ... haven't aged well- to say the least

Keep moving down this rabbit hole just a little further. Take a look at College movies. Do college students party? What kind of question is that? What the fuck else would they do? God forbid anyone actually study. 

In this case, yes. There are some decently insane parties. Some nights end in you waking up in a state of undress somewhere weird or the bed of a friend or crush. You can even still find leftover partygoers with their heads in your toilet. You can find people taking the walk of shame all over campus, barely managing to settle their stomachs long enough to crawl into bed and pass out for a few hours. These things are the norm for many, if not most, college campuses- it's true. In reality, though, while crazy and wild even those college parties don’t reach the pristine level of crazy those young people probably intended. Fun- yes. Lots of fun. 

But fun- as everyone who doesn’t work in Hollywood can tell you- is never free.

Ever. 

In actuality you may never find an experience to live up to what you’re expecting. Even if your night is within spitting distance of your goal- it’s NEVER going to cross that barrier.

And why- you ask?

The short answer? Because when things get **_that_** crazy? It’s not **_fun_** anymore. 

When you’re running from campus police while toting your notably drunker friend that’s leaving behind a trail of vomit? That’s not fun anymore. When you wake up in a friend's bed. NOT fun. When you realize that ‘uh oh, I’ve cheated on my significant other while drunk!’ and then get slapped with the sobering reality of a breakup? NO fun to be had. The morning after you realize that you’ve been booked for a DUI? Not fun and now you’re in jail and you’ve lost your license. Enjoy.

There is now an endless stream of confusion and stupid mistakes that unlike in the movies you have to live with the consequences of.

Knock a chick up? You’re a dad now. Congrats. Next time use a rubber.

Sleep with the wrong person? Enjoy your gonorrhea.

End up conceiving a kid with someone who’s not your partner? Enjoy looking at them in the face and telling them about your deception.

You crash your dad’s car? There will be no magical ‘fix it before he gets back’ montage. 

Parties do not get that out of control for good reason. Because when you reach that level- you are spitting into fate's face and challenging her to a duel. And let’s be honest- all of the above-mentioned repercussions? They’re not nearly as bad as the endless list of horrible things that can happen at any given party- let alone one of that magnitude. 

There’s this idea, this random blurb- if you will-, that the universe is completely random. And that is completely 100 percent correct. Everything may happen for a particular purpose... but absolutely no one can tell you what the fuck that purpose is. No one can even properly guess! Sometimes it’s as if fate and chance and all of those powerful beings in whatever way you choose to personify them- sat down together and got baked right before remembering that they had important decisions to make. 

The only question that is of any interest in this as far as understanding goes is simply, “If this happened, what would you do the morning after?”

For our group of ‘heroes’ (a term that is used quite loosely here) they have been asked that exact question. After their weekend of complete and total chaos and improbability, what are they going to do to move forward? How do they feel moving forward? Is there any way to reconcile with the people they’ve wronged? 

The answer?

No one has a _fucking_ clue.

The only consensus they seem to have (save maybe one of the twelve?) is ‘regret’. 

They regret EVERYTHING.

And that? That’s amazing in its own right as some of these folks haven’t had a shred of regret -or shame, for that matter- in centuries. To say they have this one glaring moment of complete and unexpected chaos now on their record isn’t something they want to say. 

When you break it down, bringing this back to the start, no matter how ‘realistic’ Hollywood would like to believe those movies are? They aren’t. In reality- existence is mostly dull. It’s not only the good times that are toned down, though. It’s all the rest of it too.

For example here- let’s take parenthood.

Like parties, Hollywood plays this up. And, if you’re being realistic still, those semi epic parties lead to a lot of cases of parenthood

If you ask this strange group of acquaintances what they think about parenthood- none of them will say it’s what they signed up for.

Four of these people are fathers. One is a mother. Two of them are even the parents of another party member in this same situation.

None of them can claim the experience as that rose-colored dream that Lifetime movies would have you think. 

Let’s keep it going further- world-saving? They're heroes- that's something that movie accurate-right?

Nope.

Movies would have you think that’s all heroism and hard work 24/7. 

Well, there’s a large collection of superheroes and overly powered beings in this room now. None of them will admit to their line of work being anything like it’s portrayed.

There are casualties, there is general wear and tear both physically and mentally….. There’s even burnout. Some heroes retire due to it- unwilling to keep going.

Imagine what it must take to get someone who wanted to save the world to retire. Imagine what it takes for them to look at their life- at their job- and decide that they can’t keep up with it. 

Most of this group will admit that yes, they did start with the intent to have fun this weekend. Not Hollywood level fun, true. But fun. However, when fate’s rolling the dice with a drunken hand, it doesn’t matter what your original intent was. Your life is at her command- for better or worse. 

There is a large range of emotions that these thoroughly beaten down people seem to be exhibiting as well as some unwanted physical symptoms. ( Case and point, a bucket pushed underneath a chair that was used to catch (and is still full of) vomit.) 

The people in this odd collection are filled to the brim with confusion and disgust but mostly? Embarrassment and shame. 

See these people? Oh, they are NOT your run of the mill party goers. Not even close.

They’re not college frat boys.

They’re not high school punks trying to impress anyone.

They’re not even here for an ‘acceptable’ reason like a bachelor or bachelorette party. 

No. 

These are beings of esteem. Beings that demand respect. People who are a public face to the world at large of many things.

There are reputations at stake here. Many laws have been broken and the blame and consequences can be squarely and justly laid at the feet of these individuals. 

These people? Not a single one is a human.

A few aren’t even mortal- a fact that has tripped up many a SHIELD agent over the last few hours.

This group are heroes, for the most part. Or anti-heroes with a heavy past of villains. Or, actual villains themselves. Ya know what, let’s just say ‘superhumans’ and leave it there. 

So part of what is driving this shame they’re all sharing is the fact they are SO HEAVILY interconnected with each other. Being caught in these situations with strangers is one thing- try looking into the eyes of a teammate and friend you see every day while remembering just what they did this weekend. 

Let’s just say that when all is said and done and everyone heads back home? There will be MULTIPLE walks of shame. 

With the powers they possess, every single person of this group can get up and leave at any time. You can’t stop a teleporter from going through a door. You can’t stop demonic entities from leaving this dimension. You can’t force a telepath to stay and answer questions if they don’t want to. The thing that’s driving them to stay? This gravitational pull they feel to this situation? It’s confusion. Straight out confusion. 

They are all held in place because they simply want to know what happened.

Even working it in their own minds and trying to talk to the others- no one can point out what the fuck happened here. It seems that they all have to accept that the only way to discover the truth is to comply with SHIELD's disjointed attempt at gaining information. 

They are tired, they are uncomfortable, and they are angry- but they want to know, without any uncertainty, what the fuck happened. And that? That is a more realistic ending to one of those Hollywood perfect parties- a group of acquaintances standing in a police-like setting in various states of undress smelling like puke, smoke, and sweat. Not looking at each other in the eyes. That? That is reality. 

In this room, no showers have been taken and no clothing has been changed. They haven’t even been offered food. (though after their youngest member vomiting for four hours straight, that’s perhaps just a precaution the SHIELD agents have chosen to take.) Cell phones have died and not a single one of them took up the helpful desk attendants offer of a charger. In all honesty, no one wants anyone else to know about this. Who would they possibly call that wasn’t already in this room? 

Now a steady fact of the superhuman (and other beings being supernatural or intergalactic) world is that if SHIELD has had to involve themselves, things have gone wrong. Nick Fury does not abandon his never-ending tasklist of sorting through the bullshit that comes from keeping Earth and its inhabitants safe to scold a group of unruly party goers. He doesn’t waste his precious and ever so limited downtime coming out to a run down SHIELD facility that he hasn’t stepped foot in for a good five years and slapping a superhuman being on the wrist for public misbehavior.

No. If SHIELD has gotten involved things have either gone very wrong or very interesting ( and still terribly wrong) 

What interesting thing could have possibly happened, you're probably wondering. Well, that’s the issue here. No one but Fury knows. And he barely knows either. 

Booking and processing offenders of the law in its many forms is always a drawn-out process. None of these people are under arrest and will not be charged with a single thing- however, they have all had to give statements and provide detailed explanations of every single thing they did this weekend. There are 12 of them and the stories are intense and completely nonsensical. As you can imagine, this process is taking a decent amount of time. 

Unfortunately as far as speed and manpower are concerned, a skeleton crew mans this SHIELD safe house on Sunday and this incident has caused piles of paperwork- backing it up in such a spectacular fashion that everything’s been reduced to snail’s pace. 

Usually, this building is only run by four agents at most. Perhaps five when they call someone in? Because of this, not only did it take the agents a while to start processing the group and taking statements, it also took Fury at least four and a half hours to arrive. Upon doing so, he had to restart the processing and statement giving because when they were done the first time, one of the tired and inexperienced agents had left the lens cap on the camera that was supposed to be used to record the statements. This wait time is unheard of and would have been over much more quickly if the agents had been able to comprehend certain aspects of the statements given as well as they should have. 

The group for the most part has been silent. A few squabbles here and there and a few heated words exchanged- but no one seems to want to say anything. At least, to the others. Everyone save the youngest member did come here with the company. They’ve been interacting with their preferred companions. 

The group of twelve takes up one entire right-hand side of the waiting area in the building. Stretching from the building's tinted glass doors to the water fountain that’s mere feet from the main desk. The waiting room does have the simple amenities that most waiting rooms of buildings have- chairs lining the wall, the aforementioned water fountain, and a single-occupancy- restroom.

This space is meant to hold guests in at least semi comfort- you know, as much comfort as any other government-funded building or organization offers. The trouble with that is that this building is very small- Almost laughably so.

This station of SHIELD operation is SO very undercover that the organization it'self often forgets of its existence. With this in mind it's quite easy to understand why it receives not only abysmal funding but also little to no foot traffic. 

Not being used as frequently as other buildings means that it's not used to holding large groups of people at once. This particular waiting room has never had more than perhaps nine people seated at once. (If you’ll recall, this is a twelve-person group.)

This room is packed and overfull. There aren't enough chairs to go around, there is only one bathroom- which is what lead them having to give the younger boy a bucket to keep it in use for the others- not to mention the SHIELD agents themselves. It's downright miserable. 

The only chairs the waiting room had to offer are lined up- side by side with merely half an inch between them. So without wanting to be, their occupants are uncomfortably close in proximity- A point of contention between the collected men and women, you can be sure.

There were a few scuffles before the agents had to intervene- moving the chairs' occupants into an order in which they would have less opportunity and drive to injure those they didn’t like. There are several ex-lovers here and as you would imagine, they’re not on the best of terms- this task was relatively hard when it came down to it. 

This particularly ‘lovely’ SHIELD safe house ‘field’ operation or whatever you'd like to call it, is one of the organization's more undercover offices. The agents aren’t even dressed in their usual SHIELD dress. Judging by the look of them, the uncomfortably stale air, and the dully lit and furnished waiting room -this office looks for the most part like an old post office that's been poorly repurposed. 

Knowing it’s a SHIELD base of operations would have you thinking that there were some important secrets or hidden rooms underground… but no. Not even halfway. 

This is one of those posts that SHIELD operatives dread.

It’s the ultimate demotion.

There is really and truly nothing here. There are no big cases. There are no national or global emergencies.

Just run off paperwork from the other bases that is pushed off onto those weary agents.

The building doesn't help raise the employee’s morale, either. Everything is purposefully dull and unremarkable- as if they gave the floor plan to an accountant and told him to choose the color scheme but then only allowed him five different shades of gray... and then he turned out to be color blind.

The floors are a dull gray and white tile- no discernible pattern. No interesting markings. It gives very little hope that there is some sort of secret operation going on here. ..Which in the end, if you think about it, it is the best disguise SHIELD could give to one of its bases. Though, to be fair, this was not done on purpose- at all. 

The desk towards the back that’s been manned by the same dreadfully unhappy woman all day is behind a thick sheet of bulletproof glass. As if someone were going to come in and start firing rounds into this dull as hell building. If you were to look carefully- you would see that the glass was also laser, solar, heat, and sonic proof. However, it is truly and honestly, the only interesting thing you will find about this building.

All of this being said, you can only imagine how much the group desires to learn about the past weekend to have kept them in this room for more than 12 hours. 

The entire building consists of this room, the bathroom, the small space behind the desk, and a set of doors off to the left of the room- directly across from the bathroom. One leads to files and one leads to a horribly out of date ‘interrogation’ room. In reality it’s just a room lit by a few fluorescent ceiling panels that seem to emit this never-ending buzzing sound- no matter how many times it’s looked at. There's a shitty fake wood table with two folding metal chairs on one side and one on the other. 

When people think of SHIELD interrogation rooms they think of straps and lights and cuffs and maybe even torture.

....This? This is probably the last thing they would imagine.

The current group is honestly probably the most interesting thing that’s happened in the building in a … few… weeks? months? … years?

Well, needless to say, it’s been a long time.

There are so many strange outfits and disjointed apparent lifestyles that the desk woman while being unhappy and miserable, hasn’t been able to keep from staring. And honestly- if you saw them all together? You probably wouldn’t be able to not look either.

It’s like several different artists got together and started mashing different styles- in a most strange but somehow beautiful way.

As most superhumans tend to somehow be, it’s not a bad looking group. Revealing shocking and scandalous. But by no means unattractive. 

As they line the wall from a fountain to door, the outrageousness of outfit and appearance starts to lessen. However, by the last seat and group member, the bar has been set very, VERY, low. 

The lineup starts with the always ever so shocking pair of topside demons. 'Topside' being slang for the mortal realm- hell is down, (supposedly) and everything above hell is topside. Their appearance is shocking in its own right- true. There’s the stereotypical red skin, fangs, and odd and inhuman eyes…. But that is strangely **NOT** the thing that people are staring at.

For those who possess any sliver of underworld knowledge, they would immediately not only recognize these two as a pair of powerful demonic beings but also as Kings.

Demon lords- at that. Powerful. Well respected.

The last two beings you would ever expect to be here or involved with this mess. They’re the heads of bloodlines older than biblical recordings and someone with any manner of intelligence would know that they are very highly respected just for that alone. The only trouble is that they… don’t look the part….. At this moment. 

**_Before continuing_** , it should be known that as a whole, there is a very positive push to accept differences in sexual preferences and lifestyles. It would be stupid and completely closeminded to think that such things were humans specific. It is always semi-acceptable to be confused upon such a highly ranked and powered entity in a very revealing BDSM dress and gear, though.

So in this instance the shocked stares are more than understandable. 

Between the two, the only one dressed outrageously to the extreme is the smaller one parter- who heads the line

He's dressed very much in a way you would not consider 'regal' or ... 'frightening', even. It's very clear that he's come topside to engage in very specific activities. His partner is dressed much more subtly. Though he does have an air of danger and hostility about himself. His outfit is less revealing and more commanding. For the sake of their earthly companions for the night, he's forgone any of the typical demon apparel- so there are so skulls or other various skeletal remains visible.   
  
The smaller of the two seems to be dripping in an altogether different sense of danger than his companion. It's worth noting that technically- very very technically- there is no 'actual' nudity. But there is a lot of leather, mesh, and skin shown. His attention has been solely on his partner, very caught up in their own 'world' for lack of a better word. Taught muscles are shown plainly through the outfit- chains wrapped in very obscure places- proving to be more practical than decorative. All topped with a tight leather collar stretched across his throat. A sturdy silver ring attached- a handle of sorts that his lover wraps long fingers around, toying with it absentmindedly. 

Their conversation is worth listening to... if anyone were able to understand it.   
They speak in Latin topside to hold conversations that most humans in this area will not understand or interrupt. Now if you _were_ to understand their conversation, you would note that it is complete and utter filth coming out of the taller one’s mouth as he explains just what he wants to do with his partner. Most of it, on top of being shocking, would kill a human in an instant- which makes it shocking AND disturbing. This seems to be something they are highly anticipating, though. There is a high probability that while they wouldn’t care usually, the more conservative of the two is taunting his partner with the public indecency but maintaining a safety net of using a ‘dead’ language. 

Anyone would note, however, that certain things should not be said in public regardless of who you think can or can't understand you. There was no question posed to the group of what languages they did or didn't speak. So rationally they have no clue other than a general assumption.

Besides the two demons in one of the chairs provided sits another demonic-looking man. Very much resembling one of the others for soon to be obvious reasons. The differences at first glance are that his skin is a cool blue- not as shocking or as eye-grabbing as the others. He’s also dressed more conservatively (which again- remember that the bar has been set very low) but by no means 'professional' as a hero of his position would prefer to be when addressing Nick Fury. As they all have had at this point, he’s had an understandably rough day. Starting it off with having been made ill by an earlier event regarding his red companions. 

Admittedly, though, his bad mood has nothing to do with it at all.

He is pointedly keeping his eyes on the floor- not looking or talking to anyone and getting more and more upset as the moment's tick by. This seems like an overreaction he's having, yes. A little anger is called for- but he looks to be in such disgust that it’s painful.

On the surface, everyone can agree that people, in general, should be more accepting of different lifestyles, including BDSM and gay demons. And yes- with literally any other couple, he would be fully supporting.

HOWEVER.... the demon wearing the collar happens to be his father and the events that lead to them interacting were very, very, traumatizing.

On the note of trauma, he, unfortunately, does happen to be fluent in Latin and as such has overheard the many disgusting and disturbing things that his father has either said or been told and wants nothing more than to pour bleach into his eyes and ears and never have to hear or see any of this night ever again. Maybe top it off with a lobotomy or two- even. These sights, those words- those horrible horrible words- will scar him for life in a way no child should be by their parents. No son should know just what his father’s lover- whom he didn’t know existed- thinks of his father’s ability to suck dick. There’s no kind way to put that.

He didn’t need to know that- he could have gone three lifetimes and not known that- happily. But… here he sits, wanting nothing more than a lobotomy and a shot of arsenic. 

Beside the blue man sits his previously undercover on and off again lover of sorts ( a surprise for MANY of their companions) - short, surly, with a chaotically unwelcoming manner that is topped off with an awful and standoffish attitude.

An attitude which today, unfortunately for the poor agents dealing with him, is increased tenfold.

He sits with arms crossed, and a now seemingly permanent scowl on his face. He can't be blamed for being a little more upset than the others either, though. Not really. As his friend and lover discovered his father in this mess, he discovered his **_son_**.

His son- the child of the woman he loved so much...

His ONLY boy- doing things that were so insanely graphic that... he just... can't handle it. Yes- he has his own sexual extremities- after all, he's here with his male lover- right? So on the surface, he has no problem with those acts. Or those words. Or whatever- he doesn’t care. Everybody can do whatever the fuck they want.   
  
But this? This wasn't 'everybody'. This was his child. It was his son doing it. His boy. And the final twist of the knife?

The salt in the wound? His son is dating his teammate.

His teammate with whom he goes on missions and spends countless amounts of hours being around.

The man- that fucker- did these unspeakable things to his kid.

...They were consensual and both his kid and his teammate are adults- but fuck it, they're still fucking unspeakable.

His teammate crossed the line. 

He's not even able to look at the man without rage flaring through him.

Of course, he has to note that his son is in a poly couple- which took some googling to understand, and yes- his other partner was present and participating.

But he doesn’t work with the other boyfriend. He works with this one. And this one? He has just declared war. 

He feels as if the stream of complete filth pouring out of his child's mouth will be etched into his memory from now until death. And, as a regenerator, that is going to be a long, long, **LONG** time.

Regardless of his deep burning rage, he manages to keep himself relatively distant from the others and Fury’s questioning.

He’d rather walk out the door, but his partner wants to figure this out and he feels as if he can’t leave him here on his own.

....So he sits. 

And he seethes. 

The son in question sits beside his father seemingly completely unaffected by any of this.

In fact, out of all twelve of them, he seems to care the least. You could say that he looks pleased- satiated, even. As if this was a wonderfully fun weekend he’s had. As if he would walk out of this building and willingly do it all over again.

And as the group knows him well, everyone knows that he absolutely would without a second thought.

He’s a little more...extreme than his father and his father’s friends- not on the demon's level but… he’s flirting with it.

Tight leather, no shirt, and a collar consisting of many chains wrapped around each other. But hey- at least he’s dressed. The others will (and have said) that his shocking contribution wasn't really how he was dressed but what he was doing.

He’s a lover of sex in many forms. It’s of no surprise that he would willingly do such acts in public. It’s very characteristic of him, actually. That didn't stop it from being shocking and scandalous to the others who stumbled upon him doing them, though. 

He curls against his closest lover, seemingly unbothered by the tightness of the leather pants he’s wearing. He lays his head on his lover’s shoulder, resting his eyes while the man gently strokes his hair. The man beside him looks decently slutty- in a sense- but not completely BDSM like the man who’s leaning against him. He’s a little more conservative, dressed black jeans and a mesh shirt- like something you’d see out of a bad 90’s vampire movie.

He’s more extreme than their third, but not near as extreme as the man curled against him.

It’s taken him a good chunk of time to shake his headache that he was brought here with and honestly at this point cannot remember if it was just the alcohol or the sonic screeching. Though they sound completely different the aftereffect is eerily similar. He holds the hand of their third- a man who’s looking as if he wants nothing more than to melt into the floor.

Out of the three, the third is the teammate that is in hot water- as it were. He seems to be more embarrassed than his lover by at least 50 of it 60 %.

He’s newer to this deal- of course. He's only been out of the closet as an openly gay man for four years or so and he only started being openly polyamorous when this very relationship started. With all of this in mind, he’s very new to this.

One of his lovers is at the extreme end of ‘public decency’ regulations- wanting to be fucked and sucked and endless amounts of indecent things as often as possible. The other is tamer but still… he is a noted party boy of many years. So the things he’s willing to do, despite his squeaky clean hero persona in public, are also shocking.

At times, he feels as if he’s the only one who thinks about actual consequences when they spend nights out. This isn’t saying that he doesn’t love them or doesn’t enjoy himself it’s just…. If he could have avoided his teammate seeing what he did to his son last night, he would have. He manages to be the most conservative of his couple, but again- the bar was set very low and he’s still sealed into his clothes pretty tightly. 

Strangely, out of all of the many events that occurred this weekend, the polyamorous couple was not the strangest thing that was brought into the light. In fact, it was one of the only two relationships that were completely common knowledge before any of the reported events happened. Common knowledge for years- at that. They are not most definitely NOT a fling and have a very nice life set up for them back home. 

...if Fury ever lets them go home at this point, that is. 

Further down the line looking at the poly couple in obvious annoyance sits a man and woman, both dressed for a very different night than the others, it would appear, and they are both sitting rigidly in their chairs. 

The woman’s been discussing everything with her husband as fast as her telepathy has allowed her. As many women desire after a long night, she’d like the opportunity to wash her makeup off, brush her hair and put it up, and get out of this hellish lingerie contraption she put on for her husband expecting for a normal date night followed by a wonderful night of sex in the comfort of their room.

While yes, the hairbrush/makeup/bra thing seems like a worn-out serotype, it is still very true. Plus, she’s one of the only members of the group that has had the displeasure of wearing heels all night. She is powerful and she is classy- she’s a public face for her team and does anything and everything she can to advance the practice of human and mutant coexistence, yet she is still not immune to the hell that is being trapped in a pair of heels for hours after you intended. 

The husband, a man of very vanilla tastes- to put it nicely- seems to be the most confused. Angry- oh yes. But unsure. He didn’t expect to end up at the club they all converged on last night- he just wanted to go home and fuck his wife without any of these team members bothering him for a stupid reason.

But no.

No. That didn't happen. And why didn’t it happen?

It didn’t happen because of the short and pissed off asshole sitting back towards the front of the line.

HE ruined their night more than anything. Whatever THIS is? He is most definitely going to search for any possible reason to blame it on the carelessness of his teammate.

He would use the expression ‘seeing red’ but as he has to wear a ruby quartz visor 24/7, it wouldn’t mean anything. All that he knows at this moment- regardless of the care his wife seems to be trying to instill into him- the grace she reminds him that as leaders of the team they should have- he’s going to pulverize that man as soon as he steps foot back into the x-mansion. 

Besides the ‘happy’ and ‘functional’ married couple sits what can ironically be labeled as the complete opposite.

They were never happy but They WERE married. And they even had a child together once upon a time. 

… neither of those things panned out.

Yes, they are once again trying to rekindle things as they do every few decades- but once again- it’s not working. If the two weren’t so stubborn they would call it quits and never spend any amount of time together for the rest of their long and miserable lives.

They started their night actually on semi pleasant terms- which was surprising to even them. They chose to start their activity with spontaneity and whimsy. Things started to go bad, however, at dinner. Which is strangely where it usually does. But unlike their usual shouting match in the restaurant- they decided to push through. Eventually, they concluded that they needed something spicier for their night out- assuming that would fix it.

They went through the process of deciding what would be more appealing- a dance club of sorts or a murder spree. No- that’s not a joke. That’s an activity they both enjoy.

Eventually, however, the idea of a club became a little... Morphed?

They decided they wanted something more extreme. Seeing as they are both mutant assassins- that’s not out of sorts for them. The thing that caught them up this time though- the tipping point- was because they are unfortunately jealous and spiteful people. In that way and only that way, they are a perfect match. 

To explain their role in all of this you need to know a few things. The first being that the woman, with an exact shade of blue skin that matches the younger man at the start of the line ups- is the ex-lover of the demon with the collar- which also makes her the blue man's mother. Also, she has slept with both the angry father and his carefree son (separately, Of course). Her partner has a vengeful and violent relationship with the father and then by proxy his kid. He’s done some shitty things to both. Because of this disaster couple's actions over the years they are both considered mortal enemies of the x-men.... which puts them in direct conflict with the married couple beside them.

To put simply… They are not having a good date night.

The blue woman is also extremely pissed that her chosen date night outfit now has bullet holes from their typical date night gunfight. As they are still both standing, they’re obviously of possession healing factors. Which luckily, many members of this group have. Meaning that there were ad (are) less chances of death. 

Finally, at the very end pressed against the door- is the young man who is regretting this incident the most. In some sense you could say he is the reason for some of this.

He’s recently turned 18 and is also a member of the x-men. The student team- to be exact. 

This younger team of x-men, unknown to the elder, has a variety of ‘hazing’ methods they enact when a member of their ranks turns 18. Tasks they try to get each other to complete to ‘strengthen’ their bond.

And one of these ‘tasks’ happens to have to take place upon receiving your first fake ID.

The rules of the game are simple, go to a bar, get an adults-only wrist band or something, take a selfie of yourself taking a shot, bring all your proof back to the others- it’s simple teenage fun.

However, recently, as most things do for the younger x-men, the game has gotten more extreme.

Now it’s a recurring challenge and NOT a one-time thing. There’s a digital scorecard kept in an online document that this particular group of young x-men shares.

The rules are still the same but the new goal is to get into weirder and weirder clubs.

Gay bars and drag shows don’t count- as they are too normal.

No- they have to go digging for the scummiest of places. The seediest underbellies. This weekend was his weekend. It was his first try and he found the perfect club to go to. His fake worked, he got a bright neon green wristband, worked his way to the bar, ordered a shot of vodka- that he puked up a moment later- and tried to enjoy his night.

However, as it turns out, alcohol makes him very paranoid and when he drank more- he became scared and wanted to go home. Only, his method of getting home became damaged when he dropped the device in the toilet during his vomiting. So…. he had to call home and ask for assistance. Now the good thing about x men is that they can travel long distances very quickly via devices and mutant teleportation powers. However, he wasn’t exactly able to give them a clear location before things took a turn for the traumatizing. 

With this very random cast, you can imagine just how …. Odd the events of the last few days have been. Knowing how interconnected they are- you would think that someone within their ranks was coordinating with the others. But no-no. That’s proven to not be the case. Back home, in New York they live and work in insanely close proximity though in very different capacities. Every single person has residence SOMEWHERE in New York. They work together- they fight each other. This is not ending up in some drunk tank with a bunch of strangers. There are parents and kids and ex's and enemies- it’s just really convenient. 

And that was the thought of the SHIELD agents at first. They thought there was no way in hell that this was a random happening. There couldn’t be. Yet…. it was. Or is- rather. There is overwhelming proof that the events that led them all here are of a completely random nature- a fluke of the universe if you will. 

Everything went down between the hours of noon Friday and 9 am Sunday. (Today) 

Nick Fury has listened to the story backward and forwards. Took into account every possible action or reasoning he could. He looked at the pictures. He looked at CCTV footage. He’s got receipts from purchases. He’s got social media activity. Rental cars. Shells from the fired bullets. Blood splatters. Bodily fluids left behind. He’s got eyewitnesses from every point of view that was available inside the club room. He’s got confirmation of details from other trusted sources. He’s got background intel on every single person in this waiting room.

What he doesn’t have? Is a fucking a clue. 

As strange and twisted as it is though- there is a way to understand it. Very, very, carefully. This understanding can be helped by understanding the following statements, 

1) Infamous Sex clubs are a breeding ground for many different things (STDs aside) including political unrest and light treason. 

2) All relationships are valid- as long as they are legal. Though some are hard to understand… such is life. Don't be a dick about it. 

And finally,

3) No matter who you are, how old you are, or how close you are to them- you NEVER want to see your parents, children, or coworkers at a sex club. 

  
  
  
  



	2. I'm told some lovers wake their partners with a kiss....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This contains relationship violence and physical injury but... they're demons so... it doesn't really count?  
> However, there is an instance of physical injury so... proceed with caution? 
> 
> It's also got made up backstories and internalized homophobia.

**8 AM**

**Saturday morning.**

**_Somewhere between Hell and a penthouse in NYC_ **

  
  


The demon Azazel would be the first to say that he’s a creature of comfort. And yes, he understands the irony of a demon craving ‘comfort’. To put simply, Azazel prefers things to be the same. Things are easier that way. They move quickly and take up less time and energy.  
Azazel is a big supporter of not wasting more energy than needed- at least when he requires sleep, he is. As the opinions of demons and other such nonhuman beings often do, he changes his mind quite frequently. At his grand age of a few thousand years, Azazel doesn’t see much sense in trying to switch things up and approach them differently. Again- why change a system that’s not broken? 

He fancies himself as extremely practical in all things. Though he will admit that he doesn’t always make the most ‘practical’ of choices. 

He’s had countless plans blow up in his face time and time again. When he’s not experiencing the drive to conquer the world topside, he’s fairly dull as far as demons go. When not actively plotting, scheming, or conniving, Azazel prefers to keep to himself, just content on doing whatever he pleases without outside agitation or observation. If you set aside his love of fornication- to put it nicely- and a pension for drugs and alcohol, he’s content to just be. He likes his home, he likes his bed, and he likes wine. That’s what he prefers to spend his days doing when not busy.  
  
As any being does, Azazel has some… flaws. Many flaws, at that. Through the gaze of his species and environment, many of those ‘flaws’ are not seen as such. Someone being ruthless and bloodthirsty as a human is a very big flaw. A demon being bloodthirsty and ruthless is just a cultural fact. 

The one thing that will be his downfall, however, is his special brand of stubbornness. Azazel doesn’t like to cooperate. He doesn’t like to compromise. 

To put it simply- he doesn’t like to _lose._

This stubbornness extends far beyond what would be ‘expected’ from a King in his position. It’s a downright personality flaw, at this point. He refuses to cave and change. He doesn’t WANT to change. He wants to stay the same. 

...At least _used_ to.

Over the last decade something has been greatly changed within him. And, though the public face he puts on is very much that of his past ideologies- he’s changed more than a being could comprehend.  
More than even h _e_ could comprehend. 

He’s gained quite a bit of respect amongst other notable beings by his fighting skill and ability to rule. He’s lasted thousands of years- immortal and steadfast. Rooted to the very stone beneath his feet. Weathering every ‘storm’ that he’s come against. As far as status and worth goes in the underworld- this is how demons are ranked. Years of rule, measurable means of power, and longevity. 

There’s a certain caste system that runs through the underworld- the older you are, the higher up the ladder you are. The higher you are, the more respect you are owed by all of those underneath you. A being of less than 500 has no say in anything at all. They haven’t earned the right to speak- let alone give a solid opinion. A 2000-year-old being such as Azazel has much input into many things. However, he is also bound to express a level of respect to those who top him. This caste system works just as any other does- those at the top make the rules, those in the middle enforce them, and those at the bottom obey them. While the underlings work and toil to try and make names for themselves, the higher beings get to sit back and relax- in a fashion. 

And Azazel is very, very, _VERY_ good at relaxing at this point in his life. The best at it- even. 

Set in his ways and comfortably fashioned, he was content to just stay the course for the next thousand years or so. No rushing about. No real drama.  
After making his way back down to his kingdom, he didn’t want to leave it. He curses the ungrateful whelp of a son who was so content on trapping him topside. When his plan had been foiled- it would only be proper to let him go home. He wouldn’t have held his son down here. Well…. For long, at any rate. Luckily, he had the help of his partner to bring him home. Though it was not an easy task at all. 

He owed his partner many favors after that. Which yes- he was happy to give... But even he can’t endure fucking for an entire week with no breaks.  
He hazards to think that the repayment he granted wasn’t worth the price of what he’d purchased. That is neither here nor there, of course. When deals are made and fulfilled they’re stricken from the books. Everyone knows that. 

On the whole, Azazel is noted as a very sexual being. Very much obsessed with pleasure- his sexual exploits, his love of wine, his everyday tasks- he’s quite hedonistic. And rest assured he will be the first to tell you about it. 

Out of all of his indulgences, the most notable is his strong affinity for women. To be completely transparent, he’s a womanizer. He impregnates women and then leaves- He has children on top of children and he hasn’t raised a damn one of them. He can only name perhaps… three? 

He enjoys the act of sex- not the result of it. He did go about trying to knock as many of his partners up as possible to use the children for a link back to his home- but that failed. And the ones that survived have continued to be a thorn in his side ever since. Perhaps it’s his old-world mindset- but a son should honor his father, regardless of his moral compass. Azazel has less input into daughters because as is- he can’t recall ever having one. 

His sexual conquests are strewn across pages of history between now and biblical times. Leaving behind a noted batch of semi demonic bastards every time he resurfaces. He's very much more of a hit it and quit kind of guy. He’s powerful, charming, and 'well equipped'- there is no reason that he should ever have an issue finding partners. 

He never gave thought to what it would be like to be in his ‘beloved’s’ shoes. He always thought they would be grateful for the pleasure he granted them and would be indebted to him in some fashion.  
  
Men don’t usually try and see things through a perspective other than their own. It’s just the fact of it. As such, he never imagined being actively pursued by another being.  
The idea when it started to dawn on him, made him quite uncomfortable. 

No one would ever think to try and ‘woo’ him. That’s not how his relationships work. He’s never been chased or wined and dined- in any sense. Every relationship up until recently has worked exactly as he desired- down to the T. It would take a VERY stupid person to try and ‘pursue’ him in any fashion he does not like as Azazel is known for a love of sharp pointy things and having a very short temper. 

Several beings would attest to that had they survived their encounters with him. Which in afterthought- also still attests to the fact. 

Until the last decade, Azazel didn’t want to change because he didn’t know he could. Or that he’d eventually want to. Even at his age he didn’t understand how meeting a person by chance could easily shake your reality down to the core. 

Everything that’s led to the present happened in a confusing and heated swirl of passion and shame and pleasure and pain and discipline and even- though he would have scoffed years ago to admit it- love. And it all started with the simple and noted fact that Azazel finds himself quite bored at parties. 

As a king, there is a certain level of decorum that goes with the title. There are certain events that unless you are physically unable to stand for, you must attend. Parties. Coronations. Weddings- of certain beings. And, more notable, any event that a demon of HIgh-Class throws- no matter the reason.

....Azazel _hates_ them with a _burning passion._

He doesn’t care for his fellow demons and he will never in this life or any other give half a fuck about their _pointless_ accomplishments. 

If you were to get close to Azazel, you would note that he is a very poor guest to have at your party. He doesn't like to engage in conversation, he takes most of the alcohol for himself and is noted for hiding away until the party has ended to avoid all other attendees. If the party is in a dwelling, he will actively seek out a bedroom, lock the door, and sleep.

And that’s it. That’s the level of involvement he desires to have with his ‘fellow’ beings. 

Another noted tidbit about Azazel is his love for sleep and wrath towards anyone who wakes him. Meaning that his event naps are very taxing for whatever poor soul has to wake him when said event is over.

No matter how _poorly_ he behaves, his attendance at these events is still very much mandatory.

Everything took a turn for the more exciting during one of these dreadful occurrences- an unlikely place he’d never have considered.

He was at a party for someone’s new wife. Or daughter in law. Or whatever. And- yes, by all means, he was there- so they couldn't say he'd pulled a no show. This was an event Azazel had been _dreading_ since receiving the invitation five years prior. BUT- unlike his other appearances, Azazel had _finally_ found the thing that was going to make all of this political bullshit manageable. 

And that thing? It was Brimstone.

Brimstone is the name of a very powerful drug that is so poisonous that it can only be consumed by demons. It is a narcotic with strong hallucinogenic properties and quite by luck, Azazel had found a LOT of it. 

With his usual behavior already established by everyone, he figured that at this gathering, he could easily get away with doping himself up and waiting it out. So he put in the necessary appearance and then slipped upstairs as usual and started to smoke pipe full after pipeful of the stuff. It’s odorless, so from the outside of the room it was undetectable- though he hadn't thought to lock the door when he started smoking, he was assured that no one would bother him. 

He didn’t think he’d been gone for long and had no reason to expect someone to come looking for him- they never did before and he was rather stoned when someone opened the door. He barely recognized the other demon. Though, upon the beings approach, he realized that it was another ‘King’. This did not bother Azazel though as the events are neutral ground for all attending. 

There was a bit of a standoff at first- but again, he was high as fuck.

Eventually, the other man joined him. It was… friendly at that point. A few laughs and inquiries about what strain the brimstone was and where he got it- things like that. Azazel would have been more than happy for things to stay on that pleasant surface level. But when sharing heavy drugs… the conversation can get intense. And personal.

Afterall- he was stuck at this boring ass party, high off his ass, and now had someone to talk to.

Things were going good!

…..Intense and Personal...but good.

The two men became locked in perhaps the longest conversation Azazel had engaged in willingly with another being in YEARS. The party ended hours prior and the two of them were still in the bedroom- laying out sprawled on their backs on the bed, and they were getting even more personal than before. Confessions dripping from their lips that others would have given their firstborn children for slaughter to hear. 

They lay beside each other on someone else’s bed, hours and hours after the party had ended, still passing the pipe back and forth and back and forth. 

And they talked.

And they talked. 

They opened century-old wounds. They spent time complaining about everything- minions, kids, exes- just generally commiserating. It’s hard to rule in hell, after all. The stakes are ever rising and it’s a lot of pressure. 

As the sun came up, they were still lying there. 

Talking about work. Talking about lovers.

Then armies. _Then lovers_.

Then random likes and dislikes

… _and then lovers_. 

It was as if these concrete walls built by centuries upon centuries of distrust and forced political niceties, had fallen and these two beings of similar standing, in all respects, were finally actually getting to talk to each other.

Azazel didn’t feel _alone_ \- and it had been a while since he took pleasure in the company of another person. It was… as friendly of a setting as one would expect for demons. But then things took a _different_ direction. 

Again- Azazel doesn’t know who initiated it- but their encounter became graphically sexual.

It was not something he’d EVER done before- not with a man- he’d never even thought of it. It was one of those ‘changes’ he did not like. And, to add insult to injury, in his mind- he was completely submissive. To the point of absurdity- almost. This was something that has _NEVER_ happened in both accounts- the fucking a male and being the bitch. (In his own words)

They’d passed out afterward and came to about the same time later that afternoon. Taking a long moment to sort themselves out.

To say Azazel became panicked was…. an understatement. 

See, in his culture, they don’t support homosexual ‘urges’. This is because his people are a dying breed and have been since the very beginning. They had to put so much emphasis on growing as a people that they needed strictly heterosexual couples to populate. There had to be a great consequence to be put against any unhelpful ‘urges’ as far as sex went. You could fuck all you want- it just had to be with someone that could have a child when you did so. You could share wives and husbands- you could have 12 lovers if you so desired- but there could be absolutely no acts of a sexual nature between two members of the same sex. It was harsh- but it was just (in the minds of those who enforced it). This was a law that was not set by Azazel himself as it was put into place when he was a child by the previous ruler. The previous ruler who just so happened to be his mother. Her approval was everything to him and is unfortunately still very important to him this day, though he’s not seen her since her death the day before his banishment. 

This was why fucking a man had never crossed his mind. He’d done almost every disgusting or sexual act you could think of- save sleeping with a man. He’d seen the punishments his mother enacted on both men and women alike- watched the disgust in her eyes. He would never do anything to shame his bloodline or his house.  
...that is until thousands of years later when he got high off his ass and let some random man fuck him. 

To say there was a ‘panic’... Was also an understatement. So as the two men began dealing with the aftereffect of a sexual encounter that was less than straight- Azazel took off. No, he admits to himself that he didn’t ‘take off’.He fucking fled. Turned tail and ran- quite literally. 

He tried to sort things out in his head- he tried to rationalize it.  
He’d not ingested that much brimstone before. As he was fleeing the scene, he firmly placed the blame on the drug and swore to never use it again. 

Admittedly, Mephisto, his one-night stand, didn’t seem to care at all. He was very curious as to why Azazel had freaked out as he had but… .Mephisto doesn’t care much about things like that. He’s a being of pure self-indulgence. Meaning that everyone from the bottom of the system to the top knows that Mephisto will do what he wants when he wants- regardless of the consequences or damage he can cause. Things like sexual orientation do not register to him as even an issue. You see someone you like- you fuck them. He’s explained this many times to Azazel in the years that followed. 

Azazel spent many days locked in his chambers sorting himself out. Making sense of it. Repenting- in his way. Ridding himself of this…. Incident. It was not only his house he’d disgraced but his people in general. How could he face them if he was being affected by this sort of… weakness? 

He closed his mind to anything other than his normal day to day life. His normal routines.  
Though, admittedly, his change in behavior was more noted than he’d originally thought.  
He was distracted and seemed uncharacteristically unreliable. 

Azazel recalls his ‘situation’ worsening simply because they weren’t given time to sort it before everyone was called back together for another event. He left the brimstone at home, convinced he would have a completely normal event this time.

No sneaking off and getting fucked by another man. He was going to play it straight...Literally. 

He had no choice but to enforce the laws he knew by heart. He was not above them. It wasn’t even his law. How could he so carelessly throw outside his mother’s very last order?  
His issues with women aside- he owes her his life.  
Azazel was not... ‘Born’ per se. Well, he was. Of course. But he was made in a way that did not require a sire- his mother was a particularly powered being. As such, it was to her and her alone that he owed his very existence. 

It’s been pointed out that perhaps his callousness towards women may be wrapped up into unresolved issues he had with her- but the being who pointed that out was not around long enough to explain as Azazel decapitated him the second the sentence had left his mouth.  
Again- note that Azazel has a short temper and seemingly endless supply of very sharp blades. 

This event though- gods it was dull. The presenter spoke on and on- so long in fact, that he completely forgot just what the event was for, to begin with. He was a short being with a hissing voice- a very annoying sound to hear for hours on end. The overall feeling of the room was that of a tomb. The tiny creature, round, pink, and horned, held a scroll that reached to the floor that he read from- hissing noise droning on and on and on.  
Azazel couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t. If there was one eternal punishment that would be suited just for him- it would be that fucking man reading to him. He’d be driven mad within an hour. 

Azazel feared he’d be stuck there for centuries and had to do _something_. _Anything._

If it had been possible, he’d have been one of those creatures to gnaw their limbs off to get away. However, he is a King. A being of respect. He couldn’t up and abandon this place.  
  
He could- though- sneak out to the bar. The bar was still in the building. He could still faintly hear the man’s unenthusiastic reception speech. He slipped out the back of the room and made his way straight to the bar - Tipping the bartender what amounted to a 1000 dollars (using earth monetary values to compare) if the man gave him four bottles of the highest potency alcohol he had.

This was netherworld booze- and it was STRONG. 

Strong enough to cleanse his mind of that seemingly endless torture. Apparently, he wasn’t the only being who had this thought. 

He was frozen to his seat when he was joined by the one being he had sworn to stay away from. They got drunk- they slipped upstairs- and then rinse and repeat.  
Wake up the next morning, freak out, and run off. 

This wasn’t a mistake- mistakes don’t happen twice. Not like this.  
This was an Illness. 

He couldn’t understand WHY this kept happening. He was perfectly fine with the few flings he had with the women he kept around at that time. His attraction to them NEVER changed. It just seemed that now… he was noticing other… options. Options that up until that very moment in his long laugh- he’d never even considered as such. 

….and he noticed none of them as much as he did his now twice time inebriated fuck buddy.

Two months after that party? There’s a wedding. (not that it matters now, the bride was a black widow and everyone knew it and what was coming. The funeral announcements were most likely in the mail the day after the honeymoon) And lo and behold- they are at it again. Only this time? There was no alcohol and there were no drugs.

When it happened again- completely sober, Azazel knew it was time to address the issue. To put it to rest. He had to do something. He had to protect the dignity of his house. Of his throne.  
He had to end whatever this was before it could take root any further within him.  
He even considered waging some sort of war against his partner. Something to put him into the man’s warpath and drive them apart.  
In a sense, wanting to push the separation off on him as Azazel at this point wasn’t sure he could make it stick. 

Unbeknownst to him, Mephisto was also very curious and very eager to figure out what exactly this was between the two of them. 

When they met, Azazel tried to rationally explain his current mindset and the other man seemed to be receptive. Or, as receptive as he ever is. Again, he doesn't like to indulge his precious time to others. Not when it’s not suiting him.

He said what he had to say, he explained his stance, and offered a few suggestions as to how to move forward- on Azazel’s end, in his mind, he’d covered every single base there was to cover. Seen all the angles and all the potential hang-ups. He’s waged many a war, after all. He knows how to plot and plan. 

However, when it was his turn to speak, all Mephisto did was laugh at him and ask if he was ever going to just admit that he enjoyed men. Something about a closet, Azazel’s heart was beating too loudly for him to hear.  
  
He fired back angrily- loudly insisting that none of this was a ‘gay’ thing. It couldn’t be. His interest in women never faded. He demanded that Mephisto leave his presence and never speak to him again.  
  
...he demanded this while standing in Mephisto’s throne room.  
To repeat, he became so angry and so flustered that he unknowingly ordered a King of much higher rank than him to leave **_his own_ **throne room

Most fortunately Mephisto found this mistake quite amusing. Endearing, in a sense- he would go on to tell Azazel at a later date. 

When he was able to recognize his mistake, Mephisto was _still_ laughing. Azazel’s frustration was so thick it was tangible. As he’s come to learn, That is a state Mephisto enjoys putting him in. He offered Azazel the chance to leave but added quite slyly that they both knew he wouldn’t. 

That he didn’t want to.  
  
And at that moment? He agreed. He didn’t want to leave.  
He just… didn’t know how to stay. 

There was an odd push to stick to what he knew- to stay in his lane- and then a larger push to evolve past what he’d become over the years. To see what would happen if he were to cross this ever so insignificant line once and for all. 

Mephisto asked how Azazel had gotten to his current age without having a basic understanding of such simple matters. Sex- when it comes down to it- is not a ‘this’ or ‘that’, situation. You can have one, you can have both, you can have none- it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. There wasn’t an all ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to such things. Mephisto spent a good hour chastising and ridiculing him for not understanding something SO BASIC that **_mortal children_** had started to grasp it. He taunted him for having less self-awareness than a twelve-year-old. 

When he finished, there was a long silence between the two.  
Ageless beings can stand motionless for years if they so desire. And Azazel was prepared to do just that so he could grasp just what was going on here. Mephisto, however, was (and is) a very busy man. He didn’t have years to wait for Azazel to sort things out. He offered to give it a ‘test’ trial. For Azazel to stay a week with him, secretly of course, and then decide if it was worth pursuing in his eyes. 

So they did just that. And truthfully, by the end of that week, he had a greater understanding of things that were and things that could be. 

In the end, his mother was dead. That was 2000 or so years ago. This rule she set forth was out of date. Or, by Mephisto’s reasoning, Azazel had produced so many children at this point that it simply didn’t apply to him. 

And to be completely honest? That made a lot of sense. More so when he was enjoying a new set of pleasurable actions that he had not discovered before. 

So in the end, through much effort and emotional struggle on his part, the same-sex issue was addressed. As one would imagine, demons are very practical when an issue is solved- it’s solved. Azazel just had to push through whatever trauma- enhanced internal struggle was plaguing him. Once it was over -it was over. Accepted as fact and now in place for as long as he so desired. 

However, during all of this, another issue had come into light. A more… shameful one, Azazel thought at the time. This issue had less to do with his culture in particular and more to do with demon culture as a whole. Certain rules are just accepted. Norms that are upheld simply because they’re the norm. It’s very common knowledge that demons are constantly in a battle with one another for titles, land, and respect. Every single one wants to be dominant in some way. Especially on top of all of this fighting and violence- earning your place was demanded. You had to be strong and ruthless in all things. It is the only way to gain what you want and then protect it once you have it. 

Sexually, demon males are also noted for brutality and dominance. They're not known to give themselves over to anyone they can't physically or magically force into submission. They do not _bow_ to others. They do not submit. _Especially_ not other demons. Everything is done their way or not at all. You don’t find many demons willing to bend to a lover’s whim. There are countless other partners just sitting down here bored out of their minds and more than willing to fuck. They do not require someone they cannot control or dominate.  
That’s just how it goes. 

Only now, there were two males. Both with this notion of dominance and respect (at the end of it) that has been etched into their minds. The issue that was brought forth was that of who was going to bend. Who was going to cave? Who would allow himself to be brought down to a level that is not seen of high value? In all honesty, lovers in this culture are very looked down upon. Almost as less of a species by some. And now? Now there were two Kings- two rulers- and one of them, against everything that is known to him, is expected to submit. 

This could have been a relationship ending standoff. The thing would have been over as soon as it started- most likely with much bloodshed.  
The only issue was- that's not how it happened.  
There wasn’t a standoff.  
There wasn't a bloodshed. 

They fell into their positions naturally.  
There was a level of trust there that you don’t give others, let alone competitors. But or some reason, Azazel found it beyond easy to give. 

Every time they were together, he didn’t feel like being dominant. He didn't feel like fighting. He _loved_ having control stripped from him. He enjoyed being bossed around by his new lover. Pushed, smacked- it was a very odd few months of exploration while he came to terms with it. It took a while for him to admit several things - however. One of which being that he quite enjoyed being fucked by his partner. To this day, he's never topped. But there was a seed of something else buried within this- something that started to take root fast- spreading through Azazel’s mind in ways he had previously not experienced. 

A part of demon culture that makes it hard for them to intermingle with other beings, unfortunately, is a shared love for violence and sadism- it comes with the title. Azazel found that he quite liked Mephisto being sadistic to him in a more sexual way. He liked being forced into things and the like. Blood and guts and semen and sweat- it was all well and fine when it was done by his lover’s hand.

And _only_ his hand. 

Mephisto quite likes that idea- keeping this being known for sexual escapades on his leash- sometimes literally. Azazel sees it in the utter delight and amusement he gets from it. 

The two are very old and didn’t know this type of relationship had a human equivalent and honestly, what they’re doing only half fits the definition. Labels are hard to translate between one plane of existence to another. The fact that they’ve loosely defined it by any sort of ‘human’ means is a feat on its own. 

A few short months of trying to figure out what their boundaries were and what was too far-Who they wanted to know, what they were into, what was out of line. (very little), And they fell into the following agreement; They were to be discrete, as they would with any full-time lovers, they would be as monogamous as a supernatural pair can be, and their dynamic would always be that of a sub/dom set up- just… less so in public and when making decisions as far as their respective kingdoms and people go.

This was the deal struck- and it was binding in a very secure way, as Demon’s deals always are.  
It’s steadfast and enforced. 

The discretion, however, doesn't mean that Mephisto can't punish and correct as he sees fit- any time he sees fit. It just means that he has the grace to not do it in front of Azazel's people or other personal relations and that he respects the man's ability to rule and make his own political decisions. Granted that it won't lead to his injury- there is much warning given before a limit like that is reached, however. 

It’s come in handy many times. Admittedly after a few very unwise calls Azazel made once upon a time, Mephisto tore into him behind closed walls- and continued to do so on every time they were alone for a week until a better, more reasonable, plan of attack was made. Azazel could not comfortably sit or lay down for at least a week after... But, it was not unwarranted.

Azazel works very well within this system they have and whenever he steps out of line- he’s put back in his place. That also makes him happy. He doesn’t feel as if he’s just doing stupid things for the sake of doing stupid things. When you do something and know that perhaps you’re going to be physically punished for doing it- you find that you may rethink your original way of thinking. 

There is a great deal of power-play used at all times. Azazel isn't allowed to argue with Mephisto at certain times- and these instances are explained very clearly. Within any living space or any set of closed doors, Mephisto is in charge. The power he has is one he has gained through pain and a small dash of fear- but also respect and affection. Azazel gives him this power _because he_ ** _wants_ ** _Mephisto to have it._ If he desired to leave at any moment- He can. Mephisto will not hold him should he want to go. And that? That respect given to him is exactly **_why_** this works _._

The power, the control, and all that comes with is freely given- and Mephisto uses is it as he sees fit.

With all of this in mind, it is important to also remember that these beings are very old. And they are not human. Some of their interactions can seem cruel to those who don't understand how it works, but they aren't there when the situation is over and they're both satiated in ways that outside observers do not comprehend. 

All of this led up to Mephisto letting himself into Azazel’s home- he has a key, of course, he has access to all of Azazel's whereabouts- and coming into his lover's bedroom at precisely 8 am on Saturday. Azazel hears the key in the door, the door open and close, and his lover’s notably brimstone scented arrival. He’s aware of the time, but far too trashed from last night to care. 

8 Am is the time Mephisto expects for his lover to be up and dressed. He doesn’t think it’s very regal to be laying in bed all morning and frequently tells Azazel so. He likes for Azazel to remember that he isn't some random being- but a King to be respected and obeyed. In the eyes of his subjects, at least. 

Azazel being one to love sleeping in and Mephisto being one to keep to the same strict schedule every single day, this was the start of a conflict. This is the start of many morning conflicts. 

Aware of his lover’s presence but not caring enough to rise, Azazel murmurs a garbled greeting. 

"You're still in bed?" Mephisto tuts, disapprovingly. "How many times have I told you to follow the schedule I've painstakingly made for you? A constant schedule promotes control, punctuality, and discipline. You’re not a whore that can sleep the morning away after a ‘busy’ night. You’re a King. As such you should be up, showered, dressed, and eating." 

The ‘whore’ comment makes Azazel shiver oh so slightly.  
Their last few ‘encounters’ have involved heavy verbal humiliation. Demons have that ever so horrid idea that any lover they have is a whore, harlot, or some such title. Azazel is immune to the rule- yes. But…. in the confines of a bed… well… one could say that lips are far looser than other times. 

Azazel makes a dismissive noise- having no desire to do any of that at the moment.

“Why on earth are you incapable of rising in the morning?"Mephisto scolds him. " I have to wake you over and over again-like an unruly child.” He says this walking over to his bed, and staring down at Azazel, expression stern and voice sharp. “Wake up you slug. We've got things to do.” 

Azazel can feel his lover eye him up and down and he feels the heat in his gaze. God he'd love to fuck right now. But... he has a feeling that Mephisto isn't going to grant him the privilege. His sexual encounters are very strictly controlled as it's something that both he and Mephisto find arousing. 

“Mm. Five more…” Azazel groans- stopping to ponder how much time he wants. 

“Minutes, I assume?” Mephisto asks in amusement.

“...hours.” Azazel murmurs, turning onto his side away from Mephisto and facing his wall. 

Azazel's bedroom is one of great size and is very pleasing to the eyes. Again- he loves pleasure. He loves having nice things. As such, his chambers, even topside, are fit for a king. Though Mephisto disagrees full-heartedly on that topic. 

His bed, the favorite piece of any room granted his love for sleep, is large and comfortable. The sheets are black and gold- his house's colors since the beginning of all he's known- and the headboard is a black as night iron configuration that is perfect for any type of restraining he can imagine. The headboard shoots up the wall- extending far past 'normal' levels of typical human furniture. It's almost as if someone enjoys stringing him up to it in awkwardly painful positions. 

Mephisto restrained him for several hours the other week- bound in an outrageously uncomfortable position. The sex- however- while he was restrained made it more than worth it. 

All this is to say that the bed, hands down, is his favorite feature of the room. Perhaps even the whole apartment. 

Another rather notable feature is situated at the end of the bed- pushed flush against the footboard. It's a very large, very aesthetically pleasing, black and gold chest that only Mephisto has a key to. It's locked tight and holding a wide variety of both things Azazel likes and things he loathes. Its contents are a surprise until Mephisto decides to call upon them. As such- it's a very visual reminder that even in his chambers- he is at the mercy of his lover.

To the side of the room in a position that keeps the bed, and activities that upon it, unseen- there's a large floor to ceiling window. There is a heavy tint to it that is customizable at the mere touch of a small panel on the wall beside it. The tint has four different settings, easily ranging from concealing the room to opening it up to whoever has the ability to look. 

Mephisto enjoys taking the tint down to zero and having him kneel by the window for extended periods- often bound in some fashion. He's been into a very heavy bondage mood here lately. Azazel thinks that it may be a little easier on him than the man's recent stint of fascination with public sex. Azazel can of course say no, at certain moments and if he means it- but Mephisto easily controls every single thing around them. It's very much in line with his personality. He likes logic and order. Azazel supposes one of Mephisto's biggest turn-ons in this is that he gets to 'handle' another being that is his complete opposite. 

Besides the bondage- he is also commonly seen (as in four to five times a day at points) requiring physical submission. Bowing, sitting at his feet, kneeling, sitting in a predetermined position- he completely dominates Azazel, and Azazel lacks the knowledge of how to explain it better than that. 

Kneeling however, out of all of his demands, is the way Mephisto establishes control of a situation in the manner of seconds. It's an order that is usually followed by a statement Mephisto wants him to pay attention to. He's not fond of it- but like so many other things, that he agreed to long ago, he doesn't get a say in it. 

"Hours, now?" Mephisto says, raising an eyebrow. "I think not. Get up.” He orders. “Now.” 

“...no.” Azazel groans as he pulls his blankets over his head. 

"I'm sorry?" Mephisto asks crisply. "What was that?" 

Mephisto is a being of calculated control. His appearance, his vocabulary, his posture….. And Azazel is his undoing. 

Today, he looks quite… ‘human’- at least from what Azazel has managed to glimpse of him. Of course, not actually looking human, still having the red skin and yellow eyes he’s always had, but his clothing is slacks and a black dress shirt- he was serious, he has places to do. He runs his hand through his hair- having shaved it recently down to the scalp- he misses having something to run his finger through when he becomes frustrated with his lover. Azazel knows this because it used to be a very physical tic of his when Azazel was misbehaving and he was trying to maintain composure. 

"Please speak up." He says. "Because I most surely did not hear your response correctly." 

Azazel has to gather what little awareness he has at this moment to at least try to soften the blow he is undoubtedly calling down upon himself. 

"I'm very tired...please let me sleep." Azazel reframes his denial into something more respectful. 

"No," Mephisto says. "Feet on the floor- now." 

"Ugh. Please." He groans, letting that respect slip again. "I'm so tired." 

“That's not my problem, Azazel.” He says sternly. “Get up.” 

The use of his name in that tone sends shivers down his spine- both in a good way or a bad. He's very aware that Mephisto could enact several punishments for his disobedience. And is trying to decide if he even cares. 

Azazel weighs the options as well as he can in an exhausted haze and decides that regardless of what will happen- he'd rather sleep. To prove his unwillingness to cooperate this morning, he throws a pillow in the direction of Mephisto. "I want to stay in bed!" he groans- eyes shut tight. 

"I know you did _not_ just throw something at my head," Mephisto says in disbelief. 

"Go away....." Azazel groans. 

Mephisto yanks the blanket from him- throwing it on the floor. "GET UP NOW." 

Azazel shakes his head. "I need to sleep!" 

"Azazel, I am telling you only once more- GET UP."

Azazel remains quiet and unmoving- he knows he's in trouble but FUCK is he tired. 

Mephisto makes a small noise of amusement. "You've surely lost your mind." He reaches down and grabs Azazel's arm- yanking it back hard enough to throw him to the floor in a confused mess of limbs and a very dislocated shoulder. 

“OW!” he yelps, his hand from his uninjured arm immediately flies to his painfilled shoulder as he stares up at his lover- not in shock. More in surliness that he knows he hasn't earned. Any person reviewing this confrontation could easily tell that he was in the wrong. "FUCK." He hisses, adding pressure slightly out of instinct to pop it back but remembering that Mephisto will decide when- and if- the wound is treated. 

Mephisto crouches down over him, form none the less intimidating “Nice to see you’re awake. ” He says pleasantly- as if he hadn't just injured Azazel in annoyance. "Now, I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the fact that you are _not_ permitted to strike me. Which, of course, includes throwing things at my head." He presses on Azazel's hurt shoulder- not stopping until he gets a whimper from the other man- which as you can imagine, takes a lot of pressure- and almost brings Azazel to the point of temporary madness. This wouldn't hurt as much had Azazel not have been so roughed up last night. At this point, it's like kicking a man when he's down. Not that he could tell Mephisto that without acknowledging how poorly he's handling his job at the moment.

Mephisto exhales in annoyance. "I can not believe how poorly you've behaved this morning. It's been barely ten minutes and you've brought about physical injury. That is a new record- even for you." He says this with a smirk. "I tell you time and time again that you cannot spend your mornings in bed. It doesn't look good to outsiders, for one thing, and for another, it makes you lazy and sluggish all day. All I ask is that you rise punctually... is that so hard?" 

Azazel bites his lip and curses every word he can mentally as the pressure continues on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." He hisses. 

"Are you?" Mephisto asks, pressing on the shoulder again. "Because over the last two months, I believe this is the fifth time we've had to have this very conversation." 

He nods quickly. "Sorry-sorry, sorry."

Mephisto pauses for a moment.   
  
"You're killing me." Azazel groans, "I'm sorry. Please- let go." 

The man over him raises an eyebrow. "Killing you- am I?"

Azazel nods. "Let me up. I feel ill." 

Mephisto watches him- and Azazel knows that his lover sees his sincerity. If there is much more pain- he will become ill. 

"....what's made you this ..weak?" He asks, almost as if in thought. 

"I don't know." Azazel lies- groaning, twitching slightly, and feeling his stomach churn. 

"Alright, alright. Be still." Mephisto moves the shoulder with a sudden push that pops it back in the socket. "There you are." 

Azazel lays in his back- annoyed but also.... not. "I'm very tired- you know." He grouses. 

“Of that I am sure." His lover just shakes his head, smirking. "You'll be the death of me, I swear," he chuckles while leaning down and lightly pressing his lips to Azazel's forehead before standing to his feet. "Now act like an adult and start your day punctually. I have no patience for any more of your messing about." His tone is cold but his eyes- if one were to look closely, which is not particularly safe, are softer than the tone suggests. 

Azazel manages to pull himself into a seated position from his back- core strength is very important in fighting. (And Mephisto is quite fond of his abs so working out is a 'kill two birds with one stone' kind of deal. )“You couldn’t have given me a fucking hour?”

“No,” Mephisto says with a smug smirk. “Stop wasting time and dress. Now.” 

Azazel groans and stands to his feet. “This would have been easier if you hadn't dislocated my shoulder." 

"Watch the tone," Mephisto says, sharply. "Your shoulder would not have been dislocated if you hadn't behaved like a child. Besides, I put it back, didn't I?" 

Azazel keeps his sarcasm internal as he replies with a quiet, "Yes." 

"Now, I think you owe me an apology...?" He taunts- smug as ever. 

"I'm sorry," Azazel says, lowering his head to show his sincerity. He can't help but think of several taunts along the lines of 'control freak' but knows better than to say them. 

"All is forgiven," Mephisto says with the ease of someone who's used to forcing those around him into compliance. "Now go- get ready." 

Azazel moves to the bathroom without another word- feeling the tiredness of his work-related activities weigh him down in his bones. 

Magic can take a very heavy toll on anyone who tries to use it and demons are not immune to that. 

He's a little annoyed to still be wearing the shorts- for lack of a better description- he usually wears under his lighter armored outfits. It's not that they're uncomfortable particularly, but they don't provide a lot of room for his tail... and it feels stiff from him having slept in the wrong position. 

Having a tail is a unique experience. It feels just as any other body part does and manages to have a grip almost akin to a hand. It's useful for surprise attacks, gouging eyes, and of course an occasional choking or otherwise constrictions. The only issue with it is that at certain parts it's very tender- for lack of a better word. And it can hurt to be grabbed or forced into uncomfortable positions. 

Once again, he feels his lover's eyes on him, tracking him through the room. Azazel enjoys the attention - as he always had. He likes for his lovers to see him as something to be desired. In his current relationship, he likes it more than ever. His lover's heated gaze makes him feel as if he's won something.   
And again- Azazel's hatred of losing means that if there's one thing he's quite fond of - it's winning. 

Out of the two, Azazel is the smaller leaner one. Lithe. More agile. These are traits that he knows Mephisto greatly enjoys.

He moves to his bathroom- flipping on the light switch and making the decision that he'd start the shower and then brush his teeth while waiting for it to heat up. This is a very stupid interaction, but the efficiency and saving of time will please his lover. 

His bathroom is smaller than the bedroom would make you think it should be. And smaller than the ones he's used to. Back in his abode, he's got a bathing area about four times as big as this. He likes to bathe for long, long, LONG periods. Days at a time, even. So he made sure the room was... comfortable. This bathroom doesn't hold a candle to his previous one, however, it does house a large and very, very, deep tub- which is something he enjoys- and a decently sized shower that is surrounded by a plain white yet heavily weighted shower curtain- one of which he magicked himself to be able to nullify any attacks of the magical variety an enemy could think to send. This is because demons are very tricky. And they look for moments of weakness when sizing up their foe. If there's going to be a conflict, they're not going to catch him off guard in such an embarrassing way. 

Thinking back to how Mephisto is dressed, Azazel realizes that he doesn’t recall why he's dressed as he is or just what they have to do. He doesn't care about the activity, in all honesty, but he’s hoping it involves ingesting something- liquor or food, he doesn’t care which. He’s just groggy from his activities last night.

....Magic is hard to use at times. Regardless of how long you've been using it. The spell he's made has become increasingly more demanding- and he can't stop it. So yes- he's tired. Yes, he's weak.   
And yes.... he knows why. He can't let Mephisto know, however. Not at this point.   
How embarrassing it would be for him to dismantle the spell for Azazel- how humiliating to admit that he's unable to control his creation. He can't. He'll find a way to fix it- he always does. The humans being told he can't control his magic is one thing- Mephisto finding out would be painful both physically and mentally. Emotionally, perhaps? He'd be SO pissed. 

Azazel doesn't fear him in a life-threatening sense- not at all. He just... doesn't like to disappoint him. 

Mephisto may seem cold and heartless to everyone- and save two or three people, he is. He's outwardly cold and distant to most everyone- save one of his children- the boy Azazel can't stand- and Azazel himself. Over the years of this very personal and involved relationship, however, Azazel's learned just how Mephisto shows his 'care' to those he loves. And ...surprise surprise, it's not in a technically 'acceptable' fashion. 

Demons are very private creatures- probably even the most private of beings that happen to exist at this point. They have ways and mannerisms that on the outside- look too dangerous and barbaric for closer inspection. Which yes- they are. There is no denying the extreme violence and danger that comes with everything they know and do. What's not known, however, is that there isn't just one 'label' for demons.   
There are overlaps between species- of course. But there are numberless beings that have differences that are complete opposites. 

Creatures who look less like monsters and more like beautiful and elven women- for instance. Very pretty. Very rare. 

VERY capable of tearing flesh from bones. In fact, they like bones. They like them a lot. This is a species. A very foul one, at that. There are species like Azazel's- who are mutants as well and are almost certain to make mutant offspring- regardless of what the mother happens to be. Seabound creatures who take the form of women, again, and then drag their victims down for a slow and torturous death lasting for several decades. 

He really could go on and on. 

The point here is that not all demons are made the same. Mephisto happens to be an older one who has very strict emotional control. Azazel can be a tad more... passionate. It's taken time for Azazel to understand that Mephisto's desire to control him has mostly a sexual side- yes- but also a very strong emotional one. It's quite hard to explain. Sadism runs strong through all of them and humans would see any relationship- even the 'approved' and public ones as abusive if they looked at them at face value. 

And humans just love to take things at face value with little to no research added to the topic. 

Humans are many many things- but smart? It's not a trait he gives them by default. Lucky- maybe. But it's dumb luck- if that. 

Azazel moves about his space in a fog, trying to help get his bearings straight ina fashion that won't involve letting onto actually having an issue. He stands at his sink, splashing his face with water from the faucet to try and at least bring SOME of his higher thought functions back online. 

He catches his reflection in the mirror and sighs. He looks tired- very tired. That's usually impossible for him. He knows it will fade quickly with proper rest but he's not getting a chance to rest properly. He's in a tense working arrangement with Stephen Strange- and the mortal is draining him with his requests and demands. He thinks Strange was only brave enough to approach him due to his previous not completely evil interactions with mortals. Raven, to be exact. Besides, out of many of the noted demons, Azazel is the most approachable. 

Outwardly, when compared to Mephisto, Azazel has a more 'human' look. He dresses in more casual ways and styles himself in whatever way he likes when he is watching TV or movies or the news. Mephisto has a lot of say in this when they go out in public- but knows to back off when Azazel is in a certain mood. Besides- Azazel knows for a fact, he likes it. The only thing they've been having a little side disagreement about is hair. He prefers the more youthful approach- Mephisto thinks he should be more professional. However, he saw the whole 'undercut' half shaved, half not, and he liked it. So he did it. 

Mephisto was miffed- but not as much as he was pretending to be. Azazel could tell that he rather liked it. 

Caught up in a few remaining queries from the night before, Azazel seems to be functioning on autopilot as he stands at his mirror, not even knowing where to begin with restoring himself to his usual form. He’s not surprised to see Mephisto standing in the door of the bathroom while he brushes his teeth. “What?” He asks, mouth full of toothpaste.

“You look tired, love,” Mephisto says, voice in a tone that he doubts anyone besides him has heard in years. 

Azazel nods in agreement but wants to soothe his lover's fears. “Well if you'll recall our previous interaction,” He spits in the sink, rinsing his mouth out and turning to his lover. "You pulled me from my bed." 

“You’re using so much energy…” Mephisto leans against the door frame, posture much more casual than before. “I thought you moving to this damned roach motel was to help keep you from overextending.” 

“...It is,” Azazel says- knowing and dreading the upcoming discussion. 

“I can see the burnout etched into your face.” Mephisto scowls. “It’s not working.” 

Azazel laughs, moving back to the shower and checking the water temperature. “Tell that to Strange.” He replies, removing his shorts and tossing them on the floor before stepping into the warm and steady spray of his shower. 

Humans didn't get a lot of things right, but hot showers were an invention sent from the gods. 

Mephisto sighs in annoyance, picking the shorts up.“The hamper is RIGHT there.” He growls, depositing them in the black clothing slot of the three portioned hamper. Black. Whites. Colors- easy. Azazel’s are all mixed and it drives him crazy, as he sorts them, he says, “What spells did you cast last night? You look like you’ve run afoul of some energy dampeners.” 

Azazel pauses to think about it. “...I don’t remember. Some random protection whatever the fuck.” 

That is a lie. A very big one.   
If Mephisto were to catch on to that? He’d be bloody for weeks.  
  
So, he keeps it to himself. 

Mephisto makes a noncommittal huff at that. “I think you need to talk to Strange.” He says over the running water. “I don’t think you should be expending this much energy on your own.” 

Azazel sticks his head out of the shower curtain, staring at the other demon in disbelief. “I’m fine.” He says. “I’m a big boy, I can manage my own power output.”

He closes the curtain smirking to himself, not surprised at all when Mephisto opens it .”I’m serious.” he says, standing there with a slightly annoyed but otherwise concerned expression. “I’m worried about you. You don’t look well.”

“I look fine.” Azazel huffs. “Close the curtain, you’re going to get wet.” 

“Why are you not taking this seriously?” Mephisto chastises. "If you overextend and pass out among those assholes, who knows what could happen to you." 

“I don't take it seriously because this isn't an issue.” Azazel groans. “I do this favor for Strange, he lets me have access to both hell and earth at the same time- I won’t have to choose one or the other- it’s fine.” 

Mephisto's anger flares- both visibly and metaphysically-hot flares of unspecified power lacing the air around Azazel. “You wouldn’t have to choose if you let me run the hell side and you take the human side,” He says heatedly “You work well with humans.” 

Azazel pretends as if he’s too distracted to respond. He’s aware of Mephisto’s worries. And he’s touched.

Mephisto doesn’t care for anyone in his day to day life. So as he started to care for Azazel, it made him a little overprotective.

He makes a point with his silence that he does not want to discuss this. The curtain closes and he knows that Mephisto is not just going to let it go. But, it appears for the moment, he's removed himself from the discussion. His absence allows Azazel the privacy to lean his head against the shower tile and mentally scream in exhaustion at the amount of stress he’s under. His lover is right- he's fucking exhausted. 

But he can't just... stop. It's honestly a matter of pride now. 

He turns the shower off eventually, grabbing a towel and drying off as much as he cares to while walking into his bedroom. He glances around but doesn’t see Mephisto anywhere. He's wondering if he's angered the man into leaving. 

He hopes he didn't but if he did- then he'll just have to wait for him to return and take the punishment that he's probably going to bring with him. 

Azazel's mortal abode is a very nice penthouse in New York City- right amongst the noise and chaos and is no way a ‘roach motel’.’ Everything is marble and when it’s not, the carpets are clean and soft underfoot. Call him too ‘humanized’ if you will, but he likes the feeling of something other than stone underfoot. He doesn’t have to constantly be in shoes so as not to catch the edge of a jagged stone in the hallway.

He moves to his dresser- a large black waste of money as far as he's concerned- and starts sorting through clothes. The dressers contents are placed in no particular order and maintained with even less care. It drives his lover crazy. And honestly? With little things like this? That's fun. 

Outside of his open bedroom door, he can hear the TV in the living room turn on. There's a slight moment of unspecific loudness before the channel is switched to a news station- which assures him that his bossy lover has moved on with his morning schedule. Mephisto has to keep up with so many things on a day to day basis- so he doesn't fault him for this part of his morning, though it does make him seem quite human. 

He hears the remnants of a conversation between a woman and a man about some pointless political issue. Humans have no idea how easy they have it in comparison to others. All this bickering is pointless. They're better off arming themselves and duking it out. That's what Azazel's people have done since their beginning. And for the most part, it has worked to some capacity. 

He's trying to sort through shirts with a growing annoyance- all of his are inside out or some such annoyance. His jeans, on the other hand, were very easy to find. Maybe, just maybe, he should try to organize the dresser after all. 

He's still sorting through, listening to his lovers ever so quiet sounds in the next room.

“Azazel, dear?” He calls- before Azazel has time to pull on anything else, leaving him in just jeans for the moment. 

“Yes?” 

Being addressed requires an immediate reply. 

“Come here for a moment.” 

He can't discern anything from Mephisto's tone- though the pet name 'dear' isn't one that's commonly used in an 'endearing' sort of manner. His tone, however, is very even. Very normal. If they hadn't had the waking up issue and the semi- argument in the shower, Azazel would feel comfortable in assuming this will be a normal interaction. Azazel knows that a 'normal' interaction is probably not on the books for this morning, though. 

Azazel frowns- he'd rather get dressed than have to sit and watch the news while getting bitched at. “Can I finish getting dressed?”

“Did I say to finish getting dressed? No,” Mephisto says, voice stern. “Come. Now.” 

That response gives more of a hint as to what he'll be walking into. 

Azazel rolls his eyes, closing the dresser drawer and heading into his living room. “What?” He asks, standing with his arms crossed standoffishly. 

The living room, the bedroom, is also large- leading to a dining room and a kitchen, both visible from this spot as he rather likes a more open-aired concept. Easier vantage points and easy to scan. 

Mephisto is standing by the love seat closest to the bedroom door- positioned just slightly in front of the TV. Which isn't saying much, honestly, Azazel has a very large television. 

The furniture's color doesn't matter- Azazel can change things at will. Whatever mood he is in generally denotes the appearance of his belongings. As of right now, they are tan. He hasn't put much thought into the appearance of his home as of late. 

“Here, please.” Mephisto points to the floor in front of the TV, at his feet. 

'please' is also not a 'common' phrase used in day to day life. Politeness and niceties are used for strangers, enemies, underlings, or punishment. Which is a punishment on its own as you are lumped in with the other categories- somewhere one would not like their lovers to place them. 

Azazel follows the instructions, standing a little awkwardly- a sinking feeling developing in his gut. "Yes?" 

“Kneel.” Mephisto orders, tone cold. 

Azazel internally groans. So this is what they're going to do. Now. While he's exhausted and in pain. 

“Seriously?” He grouses, dropping to his knees and rolling his eyes. He places his arms on the floor in front of him, doing a semi bowing motion- which is very painful on his weary bones. "Why are we doing this?" 

Mephisto slaps him across the face- not nearly as hard as he can, but hard enough to make Azazel realize that this is not a moment to be disrespectful. “Drop the tone and _never_ roll your eyes at me.” He growls. 

"I'm sorry," Azazel says, quickly lowering his head. As tired as he may be, he is always sincere when apologizing to Mephisto. 

"Forgiven." Mephisto starts to gently run his hands over Azazel’s neck, chest, and forehead- checking vital signs and general physical and mental wellness- as he is so powerful to do. Azazel finds the touch more than relaxing. His lover's frowning as he removes his hands. “You’re too stressed.” He says, in thought. “You’re going to burn out. I foresee it.” 

Azazel scoffs. “I am not-”

Mephisto slaps his face again- slightly harder this time. "Quiet. I see it."

'foresight' is a shooty practice at best. Events never occur has foretold- ever. Any 'smooth' prophecies are lies. Prophecies are ANYTHING but smooth, clean, or logical. 

Azazel lets a noise of aggravation but otherwise stays quiet. 

When he's assured of Azazel's obedience, Mephisto crouches down in front of him, rubbing the cheek he just smacked. “You’re exhausted, love.” He says pointedly. “You’re in no shape to do any form of magic at the moment. I doubt you could even manage a proper long-distance port. Your eyes are dull... your thoughts are sluggish... and you just don't look well. You can't function like this- not in private and not in public. ”

Azazel nods- agreeing but hating to do so. " I know." 

“Call Strange.” Mephisto orders, tone soft. “Tell him you’re ill. You need a week.”

“A week?” Azazel laughs suddenly at the very notion that it would take an entire week to heal from something as minor as exhaustion. “Five hours- maybe. But a week?”

“Yes, a week,” Mephisto says, voice stern again. “You need to be recentered.”

“That is not necessary,” Azazel says- annoyed but patient with his lover’s obvious concern. "I'll be fine." 

“I say it is,” Mephisto says stubbornly. “Now, you can call Strange or I can go visit him and discuss your illness with him in person. That is your call that I will let you make. Needless of who informs him or how you are going to spend the week recentering and recovering. You're not permitted to leave this abode unless I am with you. I do not trust that man to not injure you with his carelessness and I do not trust you to make smart decisions at this point. You've made poor choices thus far and you've kept the severeness of your exhaustion hidden from me.” He pauses, in thought again. "I ought to whip you bloody. However, I understand just how tired you are and will, therefore, postpone that until a later date." He smirks. "But trust me- the issue will be dealt with." 

To humans- this order would seem extreme. But to them, having spent almost a decade in this arrangement, this is a normal occurrence. 

Should Azazel desire to leave, there could be amendments made to the order. 

“....I’ll call him,” Azazel says, slightly deflated as far as ego goes. He's upset that he disappointed Mephisto and so feels foolish for trying to hide his fatigue when it's visible. 

“Good.” Mephisto moves away, not saying anything else and sitting on the couch furthest away from Azazel and returning to his News broadcast. 

Azazel waits to be released from his position- but Mephisto seems to have forgotten. 

“...Can I move?” He asks, knowing better than to do so without permission. 

“No,” Mephisto answers from the couch. "Stay as you are." 

“Seriously??” Azazel complains. "It hurts!" 

Mephisto has a very pleased grin on his face. “Hush love, I can’t hear the TV.” 

Azazel mumbles his aggravation while staying glued to his spot by the TV- back screaming in not agonizing pain- but enough pain to be annoying. 

Mephisto makes comments every once and while- wanting to speak but not wanting to hold a conversation. As proven when he adds the additional order for Azazel to stay silent. 

Having to sit through the entire news broadcast while kneeling on his own living room floor is a very humbling experience.

He listens to the news with very little interest, trying to count down what he intends to attempt to get done while 'grounded'. However, there is a briefly discussed story that semi interests him. It's a report that there is a person of interest SHIELD is looking for who is connected with some interplanetary incident.

Alien's interest Azazel. 

Mephisto chuckles from the couch. “Never going to find that boy,” he says, picking the remote up and turning off the TV. “He’s run as fast as he can. And granted the state of his government, I doubt anyone could blame him.” He stands to his feet, moving back to Azazel and crouching down beside him, gently rubbing his lower back. "You have been such a pain this morning." he tsks, fingers digging just so- causing Azazel to sigh in relief. "What am I ever to do with you?" he pats his back and stands up. "You're released. Call Strange immediately." 

Finally being able to stand, Azazel is eager to lay down on something soft- as he's heading toward the room he thinks to ask, “And what will you do today?”

His lover's immediate reply is, “What will I do? What do you mean?” He scoffs. “I’m taking care of you. Go call the wizard- if he interrupts your rest, I’ll retaliate appropriately.”

Azazel knows better than protest and moves back into his room, grabbing his cellphone and trying to figure out how to say “My lover grounded me because you had me overextend my powers” in a more acceptable and less … embarrassing way.

After a long moment he realizes that the best option is just to be as vague as possible and does his best to make it seem like he's not being kept in line by another being and made this decision on his own. Still- no matter how it's conveyed- this conversation will be quite ... humiliating.   
Which he's sure is not Mephisto's intent but something that will make him quite pleased. 

  
  
  



	3. Puke in a hot parking lot- a comedy of errors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk fuck buddies morning after.  
> Illness.  
> Almost dying.  
> Wizard!

**Abandoned parking lot**  
**Saturday 12:30 Pm.**

**\--------------**

If there is one thing everyone (Including Logan himself) can agree on it’s the fact that Logan seems to completely despise rules and order.

No matter how _big_ or how _small- h_ e holds within him a level of scorn and spite that would shake any sane being to their core. In fact, several people would describe Logan’s attitude as often obstinate and defiant.

Selfish even, perhaps.

Logan? Logan takes that as a compliment.

He’s done a shit ton of ‘rule-following’ and toeing the line for a shit ton of people at this point in his long life- but he always puts it on note that most of that involved him being brainwashed so it hardly counts.

He’s done his share of ‘stay inline’. Now? God so help whoever decides to try and reign him in. It is, for the most part, impossible.

Out of all the people Logan can’t stand to order him around, Scott Summers is at the top of the list.

....Which as an x-man is very hard on Logan as he’s constantly having to follow the laws of an uptight type A boy scout that seems to be the cornerstone of his entire teams ‘morality’.

Morals aren’t as black and white as Scott thinks they are. Logan knows this more than others.

He rotates between letting Scott do as he pleases and calling him out on every tiny thing.

Logan’s a pretty complicated guy - even he admits it. He's hard to like and he knows it. 

Part of him not liking Scott’s rules is attributed to the fact that Scott makes dumb rules. Rules that yea- he’s lived through. They didn’t kill him- but they were annoying as fuck.

He thinks the power Scott thinks he has may have fried some serious brain cells in the man’s head.

This recent rule he’s made? This bullshit he’s pulled? It’s too much.

Saying that Logan can’t smoke inside- fine. He gets that. Saying he can’t sit in his boxers while watching hockey the den- fine. It’s an uptight rule but fuck it, he can see where Scott is coming from.

But this rule?

This new ‘brainchild’ of Scott’s?

Nah Nah. He aimed for a loved one. He took away the ONE thing that makes this whole house of kids and tight asses livable.

This week, Scott Summers stupidly set into motion the mansion’s 100%, no exceptions, dry campus policy.

Dry campus. What a foul statement. Words fouler than any scribbled graffiti in the worst of public bathroom stalls ever was. It’s the end all be all of curses.

Scott couldn't come after Logan personally, oh no. He came after the one pastime that keeps Logan sane.

Now, Scott tried to give his ‘reasoning’ for this… but Logan doesn’t buy that shit for a second. Scott reasons that drinking is a ‘bad influence’ for the kids.

As if they had never seen someone drinking beer before???

Bullshit.

Logan thinks that if Scott wants to take out actual bad influences, he should start with those little app thingies on the kid’s phones. He’s just drinking beer- which harms no one. Those apps they're constantly on? They’re encouraging them to eat laundry detergent or sort cinnamon or whatever the fuck

Logan’s beer consumption has nothing to do with the slipping morality of all of these brats, Scott just wanted an excuse to punish him.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the boy scout gets off on his pain. Like he stays awake at night at his desk scheming of all the ways he can fuck with Logan and make his life miserable.

Taking a man’s beer away? Come on. That’s just something you don’t do. Ever.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Take up bowling? Start a needlepoint club? What will make his oh so gracious leader happy?

Maybe he can be in charge of those oh so wholesome lessons that they should be learning in Scott’s perfect little fucked up sitcom world he seems to think he’s running.

That? That doesn’t work for Logan on many levels.

Look, he’s strong, he’s tough, he can take on any enemy in the field- but even he’s got his limits.

He can't deal with a houseful of rowdy ass kids or most of his annoying ass teammates without alcohol.

Stabbing people is a very easy solution that follows alcohol removal- Scott knows this. He’s tempting the fates at this point. It’s just fucking reckless! Someone’s going to get stabbed and Logan is not going to take a single shred of blame.

It’s going to be ALL Scott’s fault

Besides, if you think about it, drinking is a great bonding experience between teammates. Builds trust and comradery- or some shit.

This isn’t just a Logan thought- either. Kurt’s pretty pissed as well. REALLY pissed.

Now Logan doesn’t like stereotypes much but if there is one thing he accepts full heartedly is that Germans like to drink. Kurt likes to drink at home because he’s more comfortable there as far as not being chased by an angry mob or harassed.

Scott’s is a complete tool to make this ruling without thinking about the consequences. And anyway- isn’t that supposed to be his thing? Planning for any unforeseen consequences of his actions?

It seems that their fearless leader is being pretty careless here. And don’t think for a second that Logan didn’t call him on it.

Logan knows for a fact that drinking is bonding at it’s finest. He and Kurt do it regularly. Twice a week, if not more. In Logan’s opinion, he’s surprised that Scott doesn’t want his team to bond. He should be down for anything that ‘strengthens’ those relationships. He’s shooting himself in the foot here.

Will that stop him from his little power trip though?  
Nope.

Scott Summers needs visual representations of his teammates' anger to get it through his thick skull- or so Logan firmly believes. He needs to know that sooner or later- he will face their wrath and pay for his fuckups.

Now as you can imagine, many people agree that Logan’s reaction to this rule was overdramatic. And fuck, maybe they’re right. But if there’s one thing he knows- it’s that no one would tell him that to his face.

Revenge was obviously coming. They’ve known Logan for years! Scott knows that this low blow will be returned three-fold. It’s the law of nature. Logan doesn’t make the rules- he just follows them. So he stewed on the many ways he could strike back. Of course, not physically- because THAT would be overdramatic.

This revenge? It needed to be perfect. It needed to be painful. It needed to teach that uptight control freak that some things are best to just keep his nose out of.

Logan put a lot of effort into working out his many scenarios.

In all honesty, Scott probably would have been impressed by how detailed he got.

Logan ran through the never-ending list of things he’s learned that drive Scott insane over the years. All of them.

From his stupid pickiness about how the toilet paper should hang to his systems he has in place for how the pantry should be arranged….. Everything from his first week of meeting the man until now.

He knows that he can weaponize any of these effectively should he desire- but no. No.

He needs something PERFECT. He doesn’t just want to get under the leader’s skin- no. He wants to make the man see a deeper shade of red than his current ruby quartz tinted world view. Maximum carnage. (So to speak)

Luckily for Logan- almost too luckily- a perfect opportunity was just dropped into his lap. As if it had fallen from heaven itself- if Logan believed in that shit.

See as it turns out, this weekend is the PERFECT time to enact revenge.

Why this weekend?

Because Scott and Jean announced that they are going to have a date night- which you should never announce after pissing your team off.

Messing up a single date is nothing really, right? Especially between man and wife. They can reschedule it easily. No big deal.

…. That is unless they are the heads of the world’s premiere mutant superhero response team that is constantly overwhelmed with little to no downtime. So not only is this a date night they haven’t had- it’s the first date since their honeymoon.

**_Two years ago._ **

Scott **NEEDS** this.

Logan’s sure that he hasn’t got laid in months. It’s one of the things he can just smell on a man.

Had Scott not fired the first shot- there wouldn't be an issue.

If he wanted to keep his plans intact, he shouldn’t have been a dick to both of the x-men scheduled to be on call this week.

Maybe if he’d allowed Logan to drink in the privacy of his own home, he’d be able to go off and do whatever the fuck he wants.

Logan almost wishes that he could have heard Scott’s bitch fit from the road. But, he and Kurt had to make tracks fast. Get out of range and out of state as fast as they could.

No way they’re coming back before Scott’s learned his lesson. This is one of those ‘teaching moments’ that he's always talking about. Everyone in the mansion is going to see just how hypocritical Scott is when the tables are turned.

That’s not Logan’s issue anymore, though.

He’s on the road and living a free weekend from all of Scott’s bullshit. It’s the best lesson he's ever given.

There’s a system the x-men have worked out as far as weekends go. Most of them are teachers at the school in some capacity. Because the kids do have to learn- it is a school, after all. So when the weekend comes around, yea- the team would like some time off. However, you won’t find many villains or world-ending disasters that respect the x-men’s desire for a free weekend. So, two senior x-men or four lower ones will be ‘on-call’ for a weekend- the shifts rotating between the team. This ‘on-call’ position means that they are responding to and judging the impact of certain issues.  
If nothing happens- nothing happens.  
If something happens- they go through a certain set of procedures to dig up some teammates to fix the issue.

No one is housebound, however, but the two x-men on call. As it so happens, no one likes doing the weekend job and usually try to be anywhere BUT at the x-mansion when it’s even slightly possible that volunteers will be needed.

It’s also a common practice for friends or partners to take the on-call shifts with each other. Bring a friend- shoot the shit, pass the time. Bring a lover- fuck in peace and pass the time. In that regard, this is a semi-okay task.

Before they could be stopped or have time to overthink (in Kurt’s case) the two wayward x-men decided to go AWOL in the middle of the night. Getting so far that when the morning light hit the windshield they were well out of range and their ‘responsibilities’ were easily abandoned in the rearview. This weekend they dedicated themselves to maximum fuckery.

After all… Scott did say that booze wasn’t allowed in the mansion anymore, right? So they are technically obeying his demands by NOT drinking in the school.

He didn’t say anything about not drinking in a bar three or four states away…. so they haven't broken any major rules.

They took to the road in smug compliance with Scott’s new rule- enacting their right to do whatever they want on their day off (which they’d just given themselves) while enjoying their usual brand of drunk adventures and general fuckery. And so far as Logan remembers last night was fucking amazing. (again, from what he remembers- he did lose a few hours before passing out, he’s sure.)

After a night of drinking and fuckery- sleep is important. Though far less for Logan as he’d have healed either way and more for Kurt. Which is why Logan is 100 % certain they shut last night down. He’s a caring friend, after all.

Logan’s happy to note when he manages to semi groggily open his eyes that they are safely in the truck- windows cracked just a tad, and in what looks like at first glance (and he hopes stays like at second) an abandoned parking lot.

Logan smirks, thinking that even drunk he was considerate enough not to drive drunk. That right here? That’s character development.

Anyone who partakes in ‘party’ life (though Logan hardly considers his nights out as ‘partying’) knows that upon waking, there are always a few things one needs to assess.

One, if you are safe. Two, where you are. Three, who’s with you. Four, if you’re going to puke. Five, if you’ve still got the important things - phone, wallet, shoes, pants, etc. And Six, what happened the night before.

For those without a healing factor, Logan imagines this process can be slightly draining. For him, however? It’s barely anything. Once he gets up and moving he’ll be good to go.

In fact, the only pressing physical thing he feels is a need to piss.

Logan starts his abbreviated version of the morning after checklist- looking around and starting to quickly take stock of all of his things and his surroundings.

He doesn’t smell like shit or vomit, there doesn’t seem to be any blood on the black t-shirt he’s wearing, no holes either- so that’s always good.

The only thing that semi ‘weird’ is that when he looks down, he notices that while the shirt stayed on his pants did not. He’s all for sleeping in the nude … but not so much for driving in it.

He clocks the time at about a little half past noon from the numbers on the clock on the stereo- somehow manages to still be on though the truck is off. It figures that they must have gone pretty hard for Kurt to have not woken up yet.

Kurt rarely gets sick after drinking and is usually able to rise at a decent time.

Logan thinks that his sleeping in weird but shakes it off. Maybe it’s just him being tired from the road trip. Logan knows how much the man despises the truck and slightly prone to car sickness on longer trips.

He glances over at Kurt to make sure he’s breathing- ya know, as you do- only to see that yes, he is breathing and seems to be in a much more graphic state of undress than Logan’s current state. He can connect the dots that clearly spell out that there was some fuckery- literally.

See, a little unknown tidbit about Logan’s close relationship with his teammate and best friend is that said relationship has gotten a little too ‘close’ a few times now. Close in that way you get when you’re fucking each other’s brain’s out behind a bar- close. In complete honesty, he and Kurt have fucked on and off for about three years now. They both agree that it’s nothing serious. Nothing worthy of being labeled or addressed to outside parties. It’s just the kind of thing that can happen when you spend a lot of time- both sober and not- together.

Personally, for Logan? It is no big deal. What’s a drunk fuck between friends? They do it A LOT and the positions are always changing- so it’s not as if it’s just one of them catching over and over again. He thinks that gives it variety- which is needed in drunk hookups.

Variety is always a good thing in any relationship, no matter how casual.

As far as the whole gay thing- he also doesn’t see a big deal.

Logan’s honestly pretty cool with a lot of things people wouldn’t peg him for. Again- he doesn’t like labels. He doesn’t claim to be straight, he doesn’t claim to be gay, he doesn’t claim to be bi- he simply doesn’t claim to be anything.

One reason is that once you hit his age, you can’t stick to one single category. Sex is good and fun but if you’re doing the same fucking thing over and over and over for a hundred years- it gets dull. It’s easy for his mind to start to roam to other possibilities.

Logan likes to think of it as being offered your favorite meal, cooked perfectly, and served just how you like for every single fucking meal. If you think of it that way, it’s really easy to understand how the lines between male and female start to blur.

Sex is sex. It’s simple. Get a willing partner and go at it. He thinks the most surprising factor people wouldn’t be able to get over is the part where he’s willing to switch positions. Plus side of fucking dudes is that sometimes, you get to be fucked. And… well he thinks that’s experience everyman should have at least once- gay or straight. Let your gal do it for all he cares. It’s just an experience people should have.

All of this in mind, there is a small amount of drama that comes from Kurt’s side of things. Kurt’s always had a little… issue with his urge to be openly attracted to males. After nights they’ve had, the man gets a tad angry. Not at Logan but himself.

There’s a lot to unpack inside Kurt's head- Logan’s sure. He’s not a telepath, but he kinda gets the idea that maybe the Elf is just a tad repressed in some issues. Logan knows this is a sign of that Old Catholic guilt. Even though Kurt doesn’t seem as pious as he once was- time wears even the strongest of people down- he still seems to not get over the ‘guy on guy’ issues. Even though Logan knows for a fact that he is VERY interested.

Logan lets him deal with it however he likes. Shit’s hard- He gets it. At Logan’s point in life, someone in their 30’s barely knows anything- let alone how the world functions. They can figure it out. But they’re gonna have some ups and downs doing so.

Seeing that Kurt’s still passed out and not wanting to wake him, Logan takes the opportunity to get dressed. Not that he would care if Kurt saw him, he just doesn’t want to overwhelm the poor man. Logan starts to look around the truck for any sign of his discarded clothing. He doesn’t remember just where they fucked- if they did- and very well could have an issue here if he can’t find something to halfway cover up with.

Luckily, he's able to find his jeans visibly strung across the back of the front seat- which is lucky as there is not a way to get into the back of the truck from the front and he didn’t want to be standing butt ass naked digging back there. Can’t be shocking the general public with his manhood. Make them jealous and all that.

His luck continues when he realizes the likelihood of anyone seeing him is slim to none. He parked the truck in a completely deserted parking lot of a shopping center that seems to have died long ago. He can see the scars of an old Blockbuster sign against one of the buildings. What a relic.

He’s not sure what state they’ve collapsed in at the moment- he just remembers driving for a LONG time with very few stops.

Wherever they’ve ended up, there isn’t a lot around.

He gets the feeling that they’re either in a really small town or one of those random little clusters of business and bullshit that end up strung out randomly lining some barely used roads off a random exit on the interstate. Being completely honest, Logan would rather that be the situation. As one would have guessed by his usual bright and sunny demeanor, he doesn’t like people much.

Starting to shift around and move, he’s aware that it’s been a long and uncomfortable sit in the truck. Even though windows have been cracked (hopefully) the entire time they’ve been parked here the air is still stale and the truck smells like day-old Chinese takeout and sweat.

The new smell isn’t that much of an issue- the truck can have a pretty funky scent on its own accord.

He would rather it not smell like shitty fried chicken but it’s not exactly a horrible scent.

This old as fuck truck of his has seen some pretty damn good times. It’s gotten him pretty far in life and he doesn’t see a reason to ever get rid of it. Or, for that matter, give it all those unnecessary upgrades people nowadays are obsessed with ‘restoring’ old cars with.

This truck? It does the job. It’s reliable and it’s sturdy and that’s all a man needs.

He doesn’t need some fancy radio or Bluetooth whatever the fuck. If something ain’t broke you don’t fix it. The whole purpose of a car is to go from point A to point B. Anything else is stupid and a waste of cash.

The truck’s old age equips it when shitty metal seat belt buckles that can burn hands if the trucks been sitting in the sun, windows that have to be manually rolled down, an AC unit that drips all over the passenger’s feet, a gear shift that has been worn down over many man decades… you know- simple truck things. The paint is peeling in some places. Where it was once a dark emerald green now there are random spots of silver and rust.  
Like all of it’s other ‘faults’ this doesn’t bother him.

The only time he ever really notes it is when Daken’s riding with him.

The boy cannot STAND this truck or be seen in it. Logan loves his distress over stupid as fuck shit like that.

He never understands how Daken can function in his day to day life when he’s so…. Prissy?

Is that the word he’s looking for? Eh- at the moment, he’ll just let it go. Too early to be pulling out his dictionary.

Logan rolls down his window all the way to inhale so fresh non-takeout scented air. As he thought he would, he picks up very little human scents. Very little vehicle scents, either. There are some wooded areas that he can tell are home to a least a few deer, though.

The only scent he manages to find that points to the presence of other people is the smell of grease and lard. The scent is heavily concentrated in enough of a quantity to imply that it’s all in one place. And usually, in this kind of setting and being off the interstate, that means there’s some shitty mom and pop diner. Hopefully this scent will be an opening smell and not a closing one.

After taking the scent in, he realizes that he could go for some breakfast. And a smoke, maybe. Though after a night out, he’s doubting he’ll have any left. Kurt’s not too fond of the smell- which he finds highly ironic based on the smell of the smoke Kurt leaves behind when he ports. Logan likes a little irony here and there.

Now, he knows it’s a tad early to celebrate but Logan’s going to call this trip a much needed and very relaxing revenge vacation.

Yes, it was random, unplanned, and out of the blue and yes- it was done out of complete spite and disrespect for their leader... but last night (from what he can remember) was fun. And fun? Fun is worth it. X-men don’t get to have ‘fun’ a lot.

Going on a bar crawl and ending up in an abandoned parking lot with no pants on is a great indicator of just how much fun they must have had. Once Kurt is awake and moving, they’ll find that grease trap, get some food, and find another place they can hit up tonight.

Besides, it’s only Saturday afternoon. If Scott’s going to pay for his mistake, they can’t head back now. This is a mission with a purpose, after all. That purpose being to send Scott the message that he cannot take away the privileges of his team on a whim. Logan sees no reason not to have as much fun as they can while they’re at it.

Of course, this isn’t a long or extended trip- they’re not going to (permanently) runoff because Scott said they couldn’t drink. They’re not leaving their team and their friends because of a stupid house rule that won’t last a year.

Even Logan isn’t that ‘over dramatic’.

Come Monday morning, they’ll be present and ready to do their weekday bullshit. Logan would be lying though if he didn’t say he was enjoying the fact that Summers might be thinking that he’s not coming back.

He and Scott have moved past many a thing- but he will never NEVER get tired of tormenting the man.

Keeping that in mind- Why should they end the weekend now? Why do last night over again? What can it hurt (besides Scott’s plans)?

They’re already out of state, most definitely. There seems no reason to stop the fun and turn back now.

Everything was good last night from what he remembers. He was good, Kurt seemed good- a little green around the gills if he remembers correctly… but fine. Really in all their time doing this Logan’s only seen Kurt puke a handful of times. If there’s someone who can hold his booze almost as well as Logan can- it’s Kurt. Part of what makes these nights so fun is that they can keep going.

Deciding to get his ass in gear, he takes the jeans in his hand and opens the truck door ever so slightly to provide semi coverage- at least from the main road- and then not so graciously puts them on. Logan hates the newer jeans they sell these days. The damn things are tighter than they used to be- even the ‘normal’ ones.

He can’t deny that on other people the tight jeans look pretty damn good. On him, though? He just doesn’t see the appeal.

After solving the pants issue, he has to open the back door on his side and start digging through the heaping mess that is his backseat to find shoes- as that had to come off at some point to take the jeans off. It takes a long minute to find a pair of sneakers that he keeps in the truck all the time- meaning he has no idea what he wore last night, but he doesn’t seem to have them anymore.

There’s a chance he could use a new shirt but- he’s gotta take a monster piss right now and will worry about it later.

After getting publicly decent, he scans the parking lot for a long few minutes before noting a small collection of bushes. He decides that pissing in the bushes would be more dignified than just pissing in the parking lot. Slightly classier, even. So without bothering to check in with his still unconscious friend, he quickly walks over black asphalt to his newly invented toilet. As the sun beats down, he feels the heat rise around him. He keeps his back to the truck and takes care of what needs taken care of.

In the distance, back at the truck, he hears Kurt start to get up and move around. He sounds…. decently upset. Several foul words are being muttered in an interesting mix between German and English. At one point even mixing the two within the same phrase. He sounds mad- borderline pissed, even, and Logan is guessing that he’s perhaps realizing, as Logan is, that there may have been some fuckery. Granted the only way that they would know would be to judge if Kurt’s… ya know.. Stiff? But hearing the man cursing as he is, Logan decides that now might not be the best time to ask that.

He takes his time, giving the Elfish man some space. Every man deserves to go through his post-drinking reactions. He only turns back in curiosity when he hears the cursing abruptly stop as Kurt starts gagging. Violently- at that. When he walks back to his friend's side of the truck, he finds the man is bent at the waist and puking like a frat boy. He’s keeping himself steady by bracing himself on the hood of the truck. He’s throwing up what Logan assumes by the look of it is every meal he’s eaten within the last five years. Maybe seven.

...It’s a lot.

As Logan joins him, he holds a hand as if to shoo him away. Logan notes, slightly randomly, that Kurt at least managed to find his jeans before getting sick. So at least he’s got that going for him. Granted, they’re one of those tight pairs Logan was bitching about so maybe they were easier to find because they were harder to get off?  
Just food for thought.

Logan looks on with a smile. “Ah, don’t tell me you’re hungover! Since when do you get hungover?”

Kurt more forcefully tries to shoo Logan away - not being one to enjoy puking in front of others- as so few are.

Logan enjoys Kurt’s look - and not just in the sexual way. But there are just so many … oddities- to be non-offense- about Kurt that seem to enhance the sort of … oh fuck. Logan doesn’t know what he’s thinking. That the three-fingered hand is interested in both looks and function (in many different ways?) That yellow eyes are intriguing- the same thing he thought about Kurt’s momma a ways back. That tails are fun? All Logan can boil it down to the simple and true fact that he’s horny. After all, he just woke up- it happens. He has to cool it down as you do not try to fuck your buddy when he’s puking or feeling ill. It’s somewhere in the bro code- he’s sure.

“I can’t believe you’re puking.” Logan taunts, not moving. “Couldn’t handle the big boy drinks?”

Normally when your best friend is puking his guts up after a night of drinking, you don't bother him- let alone taunt him. But then again, Logan is anything but normal in anything he does.

“Go away!” Kurt snaps, sounding very confused. His voice is hoarse from the vomiting- even though by all counts, he’s only done it once. He spits onto the concrete and Logan can smell the vile stench of stomach acid already starting to interact with the heat.

“Fine. I’m going.” Logan concedes, holding his hands up and in an “I surrender’ fashion and taking a few steps back. He shrugs off Kurt’s surliness and goes back to the side of the truck with the door still ajar.

He half-hearted starts to attempt to shift through the heaping backseat mess to see if he can solve his earlier shirt issue. Like he said before- there’s no blood, rips, or vomit on his current shirt, so yea- it’s clean. He just thinks it would be nice to smell less like smoke and the lingering scent of stale takeout.

All he finds is an overshirt- which is far from clean and doesn’t smell any better than his current one and opts to keep what he’s wearing.

He randomly remembers a ‘fashion’ conversation he had with Daken and Laura the other day- as parents do from time to time. And can’t help but take a moment to compare his dressing style to his kids- as they constantly rag on him for not ‘trying’. Judging how long that took him- under ten minutes- he’s still semi wondering how the fuck Daken manages to take an hour- minimum.

He can’t help but smile a little. He’s been getting closer to his kids. They can have 1 out of 3 dinners now that don’t end with someone getting stabbed. That’s a big improvement for them! He knows that it’s mostly Bobby and Johnny who are forcing Daken to ‘try’- but he enjoys the boy’s effort. Laura and Gabby were always easy. Laura’s got a good head on her shoulders and she cares. She cares deeply, at that. Gabby is just a ray of sunshine everywhere she goes. The most important thing he’s proud of is the relationships they’ve made with each other.

Take him out of the picture and they won’t collapse into chaos. They needed that- all of them- And he’s glad they finally have it.

When Logan’s situated and ready to get moving, he notices that for some reason, Kurt is STILL sick. Which…. Isn’t like the man at all. Not only does he never get sick- but on the rare few occasions when he has, it’s usually once and he’s good to go. What Logan’s hearing doesn’t sound anything close to ‘good to go’. The x-men go up against plagues and viruses semi-regularly. So he has seen Kurt very ill many times in that regard. But from drinking? This shit is like seeing a unicorn on a hoverboard.

“Kurt... you good?” He asks, trying not to convey his slight worry about this as it’s probably uncalled for as he doesn't want to make his pal nervous.

“...Ja… I think so.” Kurt responds, looking just as confused as he sounds. “That is odd.” He leans heavily against the truck looking a little weak in the knees to Logan, but he trusts the man to know when he is or isn’t ill.

‘Odd’ is exactly what Logan was thinking.

“Odd?” Logan grins, deciding to give his friend shit to cover up his own semi unease. “Looks like a case of old age, Elf. Can’t hold it like you used to, huh?”

“I can hold it fine.” Kurt grouses, glaring at him as if daring him to disagree. “I just don’t… feel...well.”

“Uh- yeah." Logan teases. “That’s exactly what I said- you’re hungover, clear as day. I guess you just can’t stomach it anymore, huh old man?”

“I am not ‘old’ and I am completely aware of what a hangover feels like,” Kurt growls. “I’m telling you whatever this is- or was- doesn’t feel like a hangover. More like… food poisoning maybe.”

Food poisoning?  
Maybe. Logan looks in and sees the white styrofoam takeout container. God only knows where or when they got it. There’s not a lot out here and Chinese takeout places have a very distinct scent. He can smell them for miles. There are none anywhere around them at the moment.

Again, true to Logan style, he decides to make a joke of the situation. “Fine, fine, fine. You say it’s not a hangover- it’s not a hangover.” Logan puts his hand in his jeans pockets, semi contemplating their next move, “But just for safety, we can treat it like a hangover and try to get some food in you.” He offers. “Maybe that will help?”

Logan doesn’t do hangovers- not after a simple night like last night. He can be fucked when passing out but by morning his healing factor has already erased every trace of the night before from his stomach, liver, and whatever else. He doesn’t even smell it on himself. By noon? Logan is completely alcohol-free. Unlike Kurt- who smells not so hot. Which of course, the vomiting didn’t help. Logan doesn’t recall him smelling like vomit when he woke up, but fuck can he not stop smelling it now. Again- Logan doesn’t do lasting illnesses so all of his ‘cures’ come from wives tales, bad advice, and movies. Three things that are not reliable in the slightest. But hey- all they have out here in the parking lot where he’s puking and some distant maybe there restaurant that Logan smelled. There aren’t any other readily available options.

“Ya know- Greasy food? I’m sure there’s something down the road.” He says. “It's the bandaid for hungover college punks everywhere.”

“It’s not a hangover,” Kurt repeats- this time in annoyance.

“Fine- whatever you want to call it, let’s treat it with food. Okay?” Logan asks- patiently and with great amusement.

“Ach- fine.” Kurt leans a little heavier on the truck- rubbing his temples with his free hand. “I’ll try anything.“ he closes his eyes tightly. “Please just help me make it stop.”

“I’m gonna try,” Logan promises. It’s the only promise he can partially give and he doesn’t like to lie to Kurt when he can avoid it. “First, you’re gonna need a shirt. Not that the world isn’t blessed by your reality-defying abs.” He says oh-so ‘innocently’.

Kurt responds with a groan. “ Don’t flirt with me. I’m already nauseous..”

“Whatever you say..” Logan laughs as he moves back to the truck, starting to look for something his pal will find passable. “Hey- you still got shoes on?” He calls.  
Shoes will be a big issue here. It’s not as if Kurt can just wear a pair of his. Not without causing physical damage to himself, at any rate. It’s no surprise that he prefers to be barefoot almost 24/7.

He can see Kurt through the truck’s windows- watching the man look down in almost amusement. “For some reason, yes.”

That is pretty weird considering that he didn’t have pants on- Logan admits. There may have been some kinky teleporter moves used.  
Who knows?  
Logan can’t remember and if Kurt does- he won’t talk about it.

“Good in your jeans?” He asks- tentatively trying to figure out if he’d shredded them on accident.

“Unless there’s another option available, yes,” Kurt responds, patting down his pockets and pulling out his phone. “Kitty called ten times.” He says, slightly smirking.

“Yea? She pissed?” Logan asks.

“I think it’s best to not find out at the moment.” Kurt chuckles, returning the phone to his pocket. 

Logan’s happy to note that he seems to be getting himself situated now, getting a little more stable in both voice and posture.

Stability is a definite step in the right direction. Besides- this truck will not be puked in. Ever. Kurt knows the rules just like everyone else. This rule is non-negotiable.

Logan focuses back to his task and grabs the first shirt like an object he can find that’s presentably decent, not looking at it as he tosses it to Kurt. “Here.”

Kurt catches it easily, looking at it for a second. “This is yours.” He tosses what turns out to be a black undershirt back at Logan

Logan digs for a long minute again. Before giving up- mostly out of boredom, to be honest. There’s nothing in this damn truck that he hasn’t looked through at this point. This is what they got and now's not a time for Kurt to get picky. “That’s all we got.” Logan tosses it back. “Make do.”

The x-men are known for that saying- not publicly, of course. But amongst themselves.  
“Make do”. When you end up stranded in between dimensions or timelines or stranded in another dimension or timelines, or some unknown prehistoric jungle bullshit- you have to work with what you’ve got.

“Are you sure?” Kurt asks.

“I’m sure.” Logan closes the door to the truck. “It’s clean. You’ll be fine.”

Kurt mocks him under his breath while pulling the shirt over his head. Keeping in mind that this is Logan’s shirt who is a good bit shorter than Kurt, it settles just a little too tightly in a very good way. Logan wasn’t lying about Kurt’s abs. The Elf has a body that would make any man jealous if not slightly horny. Kurt’s got more of an effect on people than he realizes. At the end of it, as fucked as it sounds, Raven Darkholme makes pretty babies. It’s just a fact of life.

Even that creep she had with Creed was a decent enough looking guy.

“I’m guessing there are no clean jeans, either,” Kurt comments disparagingly.

“Uh… got some sweats.” Logan offers, seeing them crammed into the dirty floorboard. “Can’t tell you when they were washed last, though. You want em?”

“Pass.” Kurt sighs. Logan watches as the man takes a moment to stretch- rolling his shoulders and working out the kinks that come from sleeping in a small truck sans healing factor.

In that regard, Kurt may be doing better than Logan. He can bend and contort in ways people wouldn’t think possible. Maybe sleeping in the truck wasn’t as hard on him as Logan thought it was at first.

“...how’s the stomach?” Logan asks, trying to focus on something else.

“Better,” Kurt responds with a slight nod. “I guess it was something I ate.”

Logan chuckles. “If you’re sure you’re not gonna hurl, hop in. Let’s go.”

Logan gets in the driver’s seat, readjusting the various items he’s moved to be able to sleep semi decently and waits for Kurt to get in. The only feature that Kurt doesn’t mind in this truck is the front seat as it’s a bench style with no separation and he can usually stretch out more than other seating allows him. Logan knows his friend pretty damn well and is more than aware of Kurt’s seeming inability to sit properly for long periods. Kinda a running joke with the others to be honest.

Kurt has to move aside the take out container that is the culprit of the stale food smell Logan’s been noting. “Why do you always put things on my side?” He grouses.

Logan looks at him in amusement. “Okay, one, how do you know it was mine and two, this is my truck. All sides are my side.” He nods to the container. “So sorry to offend his highness's sensibilities. Stop fucking around and get in.”

“If you didn’t put things on my seat-”

“My seat.” Logan laughs.

Kurt glares at him while moving aside the collection of items- an empty styrofoam cup, two beer cans, and finally, the styrofoam box.

The box slips out of his hands and drops to the floorboards, semi spilling.

“The hell is wrong with you, Elf?” Logan teases. “Stop fucking around.”

“I’m trying!” Kurt cries in exasperation. “It’s not my fault your truck hates me.”

He opens and manages to maneuver the container to where most of the mess is copped up but again, drops it, “Damn box!”He pushes it to the floorboard, climbing in and sitting down. When it shifts again, it spills out rice, chicken, and two used condoms. Both of them see them a second before Kurt just violently kicks the container away from him and further under the dash. “Wonderful.” He grouses, leaning his head back against the seat.

Logan starts the truck, trying to not laugh at his friend’s sour mood.

They pull through the parking lot, heading to a weathered stop sign that is now faded and crooked.

Kurt’s bad mood is almost touchable- it’s that prevalent in the cab of the truck.

This is not a time for bringing their tryst up, so Logan keeps his amusement to himself for a whole two minutes before saying, “Ya know-”

“Not a word,” Kurt growls, not looking at him.

“I Mean-”

“Not. A. Word.” He turns and glares at Logan in a way that reads as nothing other than ‘drop it’.

Logan looks at his friend in amusement. “Help any if I said I didn’t remember it?”

“Hardly.” Kurt grouses moodily before adding, “Just get me food. I’m starving.”

Logan manages to seem semi ‘adultlike’ and not pester his friend too much. Though…. He does have questions now after seeing the condoms. They don’t need to use them, per se, but it’s a good habit to have anyway. Still….. Inquiring minds want to know. “Ya know there’s always- “ He goes to mention the spilled food but stops when he sees his partner’s face. “Right. Shutting up.” Logan says as he pulls the truck onto the main road. He remembers in this silence that he needs to check his phone- as you’re supposed to do upon waking. He’s pretty bad at using the damn thing but… he does like it. “Hey, pull my phone and car charger out of the glove box, would ya?” He asks, motioning to the glove box. “I left my phone on silent all night and I bet Slim’s murdered the battery trying to bitch us out.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he keeps the phone on him now more than ever because of his kids. It’s good to know when they're in trouble. Really good to know.

Luckily- he can charge the phone in this truck- regardless of its age. It has one of those old cigarette lighter ports that he can plug a shitty half working charging adapter into. Logan’s an old fashioned guy- yea. But again, he’s learning to be at least semi-attached to his cellphone.  
Of course he believes that it should be just that- a phone. Not a Gameboy. Not a computer. Not a camera.Just a phone. Things work better like that.

Kurt nods- still looking semi annoyed with life in general after his rough start to the day. He opens the glove box- careful of the sticking latch that dumps everything to the floor, and successfully pulls out a caseless and very cracked iPhone along with a bright white charging apparatus. When he goes to close the drawer- Logan hits a turn too sharply and spills everything out onto the floor- which he laughs at as it makes Kurt even more annoyed.

“Smooth, Logan.” He grumbles, picking it up and shuffling it back in, reaching for the last item and instantly dropping it to the floor in disgust latching the glove box closed.

“The hell are your manners?.” Logan fusses. “Don’t trash my truck. The front seat stays clean. And you already fucked up the floor. ” He ‘scolds’’. ”Clean up after yourself.” He stops the truck at a stoplight and bends down to pick up the mystery item, feeling the plastic under his fingers being slickly coated with some substance. The tube is half full and almost slick enough to drop. His brain’s moving a little slow and it takes him a moment to realize what he’s holding, which upon doing, he can’t help but laugh loudly.

“That’s not funny,” Kurt growls.

Logan motions with the tub. “ Oh- come on, even you gotta admit that this is fucking hilarious.” He grins while looking at the slick tube in his hand. “So uh… this your brand or mine? I get them mixed up.”

Kurt angrily rolls his window down, yanks the bottle of lube from Logan’s hand, and tosses it out of the truck, rolling the window back up pointedly and turning away from his friend.

Logan thinks that this is perhaps the best morning-after routine they’ve ever had.

“....you sure you don't want that?” He asks ‘innocently’.

“Shut up, Logan,” Kurt growls.

Logan chuckles to himself,- unable to let it go as he finds this whole situation hilarious. And enjoys ‘inappropriate’ humor to begin with. “Just saying… should you be unable to resist-”

“SHUT UP.”

In the silence that follows, Logan is still smiling.

Look- he knows what this is. They both do. There’s an unwritten rule between them- when they’re drunk, a mindless fuck is nothing.  
Really. It’s not one of those ‘take advantage of your partner’ things. They agreed long ago that if it happens- it happens. The rules being that no one can be passed out and if one person is drunk- the other person has to be drunk too. No sober/drunk sessions. And honestly, most of the time they both have a pretty hard time remembering it. Logan thinks it would only count as a ‘serious’ thing if it happened sober. He can’t lie and say that he doesn’t want a sober fuck- but…. It is what it is.

Logan has yet to quit smiling when the light changes. He remembers as they’re moving to plug the phone in. In the moment that follows, the only noise is the vibration of all the notifications as his phone reboots and registers them.

“Soooo..” He says in silence when he feels as if he can control his amusement enough to not completely piss Kurt off, “we ever gonna talk about it or just….”

“Pretend that nothing happened EVER and SAY NOTHING.” Kurt says pointedly ”Yes, that is exactly what we’re going to do.”

“Ah don’t be like that.” Logan laughs. “You coulda been you on top- neither of us remembers-”

“SHUT UP!” Kurt snaps in a way that lets Logan know that he’s quickly approaching the limit.

He pauses just for a minute before continuing with, “I mean, logically you’d be the one to feel it still.”

“I am five seconds before porting out of this truck and walking.” Kurt threatens- sounding pretty damn serious.

“Come on.” Logan teases. “ I just wanna know how I did!”

“You are such an ass.” Kurt murmurs in annoyance, laying his head against the glass. “More finding food less talking, ja?”

Logan grins. “ Just admit it. You find me sexy.”

“Less talking.” Kurt hisses.

“You find me sexy,” Logan repeats. “You can’t resist-”

Kurt groans loudly. “This is a nightmare.”

“...... well now that's just downright offensive.” Logan laughs- still thoroughly enjoying himself.  
However, he can see that Kurt is not really in the mood to deal with his taunts, so he drops the situation for a good ten minutes.

One day, he’s sure he’ll get his pal to understand how this is okay.  
One day. Probably not any day soon though.

He finds himself in a pleasant mood as he keeps driving. He’s got to help Kurt out of this funk before they start it up again tonight-if the man just sulks all night, they may as well go home.  
.  
It’s only broken when Kurt groans, “I feel sick again.”

Surprised, Logan glances over at him. “What, now?”

His friend nods. “Yes -now. I’m going to be sick. Pullover. NOW.”

Logan does so instantly, which is possible seeing as they’re the only car on the road and the likelihood of them holding anyone up is almost impossible at this moment.

Kurt pushes his door open before the truck even stops and leans out just barely in time to puke- violently, at that. More So than the first time, even.

At first Logan tries to shake it off at face value- drinking, road trip, sleeping in a truck. Maybe Kurt’s just having a really bad hangover and doesn’t want to admit it. He sits awkwardly, unable to do anything to help and not knowing what to say to be ‘soothing’- which is to no one’s surprise not Logan’s forte.

He tries to keep his mind from roaming to dark places and keep everything at face value.  
Car ride. Drinking. No food. No water. That’s it. Kurt’s just having a hangover and is too damn proud to admit it. That’s all this is.

It’s only when the puking gets worse- more violent- that he starts to worry.

The only thing they did last night was drink. Logan was with him all night- there’s no way he could have come into contact with anything that would hurt him- right? Then it hits him. And it’s a big IF. Logan starts to worry about if it’s possible that while they were screwing he did something too hard…and damaged him? How do you even approach a friend with that situation? Logan is always one to say what he means but telling your fuck buddy that you think you could have hurt them by fucking….well that’s just awkward.

He waits for Kurt to quit puking and sit himself back in the truck- closing the door. “What is happening?” The man whispers- more to himself than Logan- clutching his stomach.

He does not look like he’s in a mood to talk about gay sex injuries but… Logan can’t dismiss his sudden worry.

“Hey… Elf?”

“What?” He asks, sounding sickly again.

Logan looks up overtaking in the sweat on his face, the pained expression, how tightly he is gripping his stomach. He’s... not looking so hot. “Not trying to joke here and being completely serious. What if I.. uh… do you think that maybe last night coulda been… too rough?”He asks. “Ya know, maybe I messed something up?”

Kurt laughs- probably for the first time in the last hour or so- though his voice is still hoarse from puking. “Don’t flatter yourself, Logan. There is no way you fucked me into being ill.”

He knows that the cause of Kurt’s illness is unknown and still very serious, but he can’t help but feel slightly better when he hears Kurt joking.

Logan laughs both at Kurt sounding more like himself and at the crudeness of a statement that when they first met, Kurt would never have said. “I like when you say ‘fuck’.” He smirks. It’s fun to see how I’ve corrupted you.”

“Yes, you’re such a good influence.” Kurt swallows loudly before groaning. “Can we get moving? I just want to go lay down. I’m so tired.”

“...kinda short on beds here, Elf,” Logan says, starting to think of a way to help Kurt get through whatever the hell this is. “I could pull into the parking lot and let you sleep it off in the back of the truck if you want…”

Kurt seems to be weighing out his options while Logan can’t help but notice that the truck bed is gonna be hot as fuck and he doesn’t have anything to cool it down or keep it from burning Kurt.

Logan looks further ahead and finally sees the grease trap he’s been smelling. “Look look-” He says. “We go there, get you some food while parking the truck in the shade to cool it down. And I’ll work on finding us somewhere with an actual bed we can go to so let you sleep.

Kurt nods quickly. “Yes -do that. As quickly as possible.”

Logan looks him over, seeing if he’s going to be able to hold it together long enough to get to the diner. “So can you hold it for a moment?”

“I can try.” Kurt agrees- not sounding sure and thus not sounding reassuring.

“I guess that’s the best we can ask for.” Logan nods. “Hold it together for just a bit longer.” Logan puts the truck in drive quickly pushing 65- not a lot of speed, but more than the short distance between the two points required.

He jerks the truck into a parking lot that is empty and completely composed of loose gravel. He puts the truck in park, taking a moment to observe the area- check for traps and danger- ya know, good x-men habits to have. All he smells is the grease and smoke coming from the shithole in front of him. It seems safe enough.

In the second it takes for him to check his surroundings and pocket the keys, Kurt’s leaning out of his door again- puking. It’s violent and loud and Logan is starting to get very worried.

Okay at this point ‘worried’ doesn’t cover it. Logan doesn’t want to stress Kurt out…. but he’s smelling … sicker by the minute.

There are many different levels of ‘sick’ that Logan can detect and Kurt’s slipping into a very dangerous one pretty fucking fast. There’s a difference between ‘hungover’ smell and actual sick smell- and Kurt has passed that line pretty quickly since he woke up.

“Stay here for a sec,” Logan tells Kurt, opening his door and stepping into the gravel. “If you need anything, shout.” He instructs, knowing he’ll be able to hear from inside before even entering the building. tossing the keys onto the middle seat beside him and heading into the restaurant- happy to see it’s one of those 24/7 places and then hopefully has a day round breakfast menu.

The restaurant is basically a very small box lined with windows and equipped with a vent that is pumping all the smoke/steam out into the outside air. This layout is both good and bad for strangely pretty much the same reason. It’s good in the sense that with all of these windows into the parking lot, you can see who’s coming. It’s bad in the sense that with all these windows into the parking lot, people can easily open fire to do some pretty decent damage.  
However, Logan doubts he has rogue assassins to worry about at this moment.

The door has a bell over it that rings when he opens it. The air is heavily stained with grease, eggs, and that lingering scent of that powdery mixture used to clean up vomit. Logan’s guessing that someone in Kurt’s position also visited these folks. No one’s in the booths that line the windowed walls and no one is seated at the large U shaped ‘bar’ that wraps around the ‘kitchen’ space. The good thing about these places is that it’s completely open air. You see the cooks making your food. You see the waitress pouring your drinks- there are no surprises.

The outside walls are lined with the floor to ceiling windows- letting in a lot of natural light and adding to that ‘open’ feeling. Everything about this place is semi toned down, however. The floor is a white-gray, the booths a dark gray, and the bar is a slightly lighter gray than the tables of the booths. The only thing that stands out is the red upholstery on the back of the booths and spinning stools that line the bar.

In the ‘kitchen’ part of the restaurant, there’s one big guy on the griddle. Standing there rolling his neck from side to side as if to pop it. He’s a pretty big white dude- Logan can smell whiskey on him. Kinda smells like he had a night like Logan’s sans healing factor. He’s the kind of character that you hoped wouldn’t but wouldn’t be too terribly surprised if you found a swastika tat somewhere or another. In front of the sinks and at the counter sits the register and the small woman who mans it. She looks like a grandma in a very basic sense. Dyed red hair that’s more orange than red, frizzy, and pulled back. Thinning on top as hair gets when a person is a certain age. Her face has heavy wrinkles and tired dark eyes that are covered in a deep hideous shade of green eyeshadow.

Yep. This is the place to be that’s gonna get Kurt back on his feet, Logan knows it.

The woman grants him a tired smile when he approaches the register. “What can I do for ya hun?” She asks, accent sounding just a tad nowhere near New York like.  
He takes a second to wonder just how far he managed to get away from Scott’s bullshit.

“Hey. My buddies out there puking in your parking lot. Need to get something on his stomach. You serve breakfast past noon?”

“Yep- we see that a lot.” She says. “Keep breakfast running 24/7. So what’s it gonna be?”

Logan doesn’t even bother looking at the menu, knowing that all of these places are pretty much gonna have the same five or six staples. “Gimme some eggs, bacon, and toast.”

She nods. “How do you want the eggs?”

“Scrambled.” He digs for his wallet, opening it up and feeling relieved to see he’s got cash.  
He probably should have checked for that before ordering but...hindsight is 20/20, right?

The woman makes a noise of confirmation while putting the order in the ancient-looking cash register. “That’s gonna be twelve bucks even.”

He pulls out a twenty and passes it over. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you very much. it’ll be ready in…” She looks out the window behind him. “Make it quick, would you? His buddy’s gonna scare off the customers.” She says, raising her eyebrow at Logan.

The man at the grill makes a noise of confirmation- followed by a burp- and gets to work.

“...don’t see many people like your buddy there.” She says, not seeming technically outraged but…. Not really accepting.

“Yea,” Logan responds gruffly. “We’re just passing through.”

“From where?”

Logan can hear the hostility in her tone growing ever so much. “Anywhere.” He states in a semi rude sort of tone. “We’re on our way out.”

Logan watches the cook carefully as the food is prepared- making sure nothing goes in that’s not supposed to.

The woman takes the plate the cook hands her and dumps it in a to-go container. “So you don’t run off with a plate and make me do more dishes.” She flashes a forced smile“Hope your ….friend feels better.”

“Thanks.” He says gruffly turning around heading out the door with the white box of grease drowned food. “Fucking hicks.” He hisses, moving back to the truck.

When he gets back to the truck, Kurt’s sitting down in the parking lot, back propped up against the side and looking pretty fucking sick. He’s gone from ‘hangover’ to possible plague victim. “Holy fuck!” Logan says, circling him to avoid the puddle of puke in front of him and crouches down in front of him. “Kurt you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.” Kurt groans in agreement.

Logan looks him over not being able to control his worry anymore. “I don’t think you’ll be able to keep this down.” He motions to the food. “You look bad.”

“Thank you so much for your lovely compliments.” Kurt hisses, eyes closed, and looking to be in pain.

“No Kurt- you don’t understand. We need to get you to a doctor. Or to an ER. You are REALLY sick.”

“Ja, Logan,” Kurt says sarcastically. “Go find me a doctor in this backwater town that’s going to willingly work on a mutant. I’ll wait here and die in during the day it takes you to find someone willing to even examine me- let alone treat me.” He groans after this. “I just want to sleep.”

Logan can’t deny that Kurt’s right about the doctor bit.

“Let me think…” He says, more to himself. Logan doesn’t have a clue how to handle this. He doesn’t know what Kurt has and as far as medical supplies- all he’s got is an almost empty bottle of ibuprofen. He runs it through his head over and over again- trying to recall the medical know-how he’s had to use on numerous battlefields in the past. The only thing he can think of is to get Kurt to some kind of bed and call someone for help. Screwing up Scott’s weekend is fun and all… but not if it leads to his best friend dying.

He stands up, scanning the horizon for some sign of what to do to fall into his lap. It just so happens that through the trees, just ever so slightly, he sees the top of a sign of a motel just a little ways away. “There’s a motel,” He says, pointing. “Let’s go get you a bed. Let you sleep it off.”

Kurt quickly nods in agreement, voice weak when he says, “Let’s do that.”

Logan tries to conceal the more pressing concerns on his mind upon hearing how weak and pain-filled Kurt’s voice is. “ Come on.” He says gently. “Let’s get you up.” Logan bends down and helps him to his feet- supporting almost all of his weight. “You got it?” He asks Kurt seems to be unable to hold himself up. “Shit.” He hisses- almost dropping him. “Come on, Elf. Stand up.”

“I’m trying.” Kurt hisses. “I can’t.”

Hearing Kurt say that he ‘can’t’ only adds fuel to Logan’s surging panic. He manages to get his almost assuredly soon to be unconscious friend in the truck- letting him fall over sideways onto the seat. He closes the door and quickly gets in himself, putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot.

His panic is mounting like crazy. Logan’s no doctor. There’s no hospital around. He needs to call home- see if they can do anything remotely… or send a portal… or a teleporter- ANYTHING.  
He needs a mutant miracle and he swears that he’ll never do anything this stupid and spiteful gain. … for at least two years.

“You breathing?” He asks as they head down the road. “Kurt? Talk to me.”

Kurt makes a noise that can be taken as a ‘yes’.

“Gonna puke again?”

He makes the same noise before doing so on the floorboard.

Logan guesses he’s gonna have to let that one slide. Whatever happens here- he’s completely at fault.

It’s an insanely short drive to the motel- but Logan has to admit it’s very nerve-wracking. Kurt’s stopped responding to questions- he can hear him breathing, but he can’t get a response  
He’s gonna have to call someone to come get them. Something isn’t right- at all. Kurt shouldn’t be this sick- he was with him all night.

Well…. at least he thinks he was? Could someone have given him something to make him sick? Poisoned him or some shit? Logan can’t help but let his mind race.

His anxiety is not helped at all by the actual look of the motel.

It’s composed of a singular two-story building behind a small check-in hut that looks like it's a 1980’s horror flick. The room doors on the actual motel part on the bottom floor has been recently beaten in by the cops- he’d bet money on it. Some rooms don’t have numbers on the doors- just fading from sun damages where the numbers used to be. There are no cars in the parking lot and most of the lines used for parking are faded to the point of not being visible. That's just the front of the lot, though. As it stretches towards the back of the lot, the asphalt abruptly switches to loose gravel. There are also quite a few potholes.

This looks like the place where you would wake up in a tub of ice after someone harvested your kidney. To their advantage though, as much as it sucks, there’s no one around to make a deal about the obvious mutant. Hates that it happens so much to his friend but- it’s a fact of life.

He turns to the almost completely unresponsive man. “I’ll be right back. Try to stay awake.”

He quickly opens his door and goes to the check-in building- quicker than usual, but not out of the ordinary. You can't run into those places- it spooks the workers.

The building is surrounded by windows, but somehow still dark and slightly damp smelling. There’s no one at the counter so he rings the bell- the only thing said counter’s surface that is semi-clean and not covered in a thin layer of dust. There is no seating and the only amenity seems to be the unisex bathroom to the right.

He stands there awkwardly and waits, just more than a little impatient, looking around trying to ease some of his unease. Beside the counter is one of those typical ‘here’s what you can do brochure racks’ but it’s empty. Logan knows that there probably weren’t many brochures, to begin with. He looks at this place and all of his senses tell him ‘dead-end’.Over the counter on the walls is an insanely old and precariously perched TV- turned to some mainstream news station- if the TV weren’t going, he’d probably assume that no one was here at all.

After a long moment, he rings the bell again. “Anyone here?”

If not, he’s not above dragging Kurt into one of those bashed in rooms. It’s sure to still have a bed. He’s turning back to the door to do just that when he hears, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” He watches as this wrinkled old crow looking woman- beady eyes, sharp nose, stringy black hair, and pretty round- comes to the counter with a pop tart in her hands. She looks at him and asks with a mouthful of Poptart, “What do you want? Go away.”

“Do you still rent rooms here? ” He asks, decently impatient at this point.

“Room- room- OH!” She shakes his head and snaps her fingers once. “OH. Rooms. Right.”

He’s a little worried that she seems to have forgotten she is supposed to be renting them…. But there is nowhere else to go and he’s afraid he’s already wasting too much time.

“How long are you staying?” She asks gruffly.

“Only a night- maybe?” Logan says, becoming slightly interested in some new clip about some alien kid. It’s weird because Alien issues don’t get talked about that often.  
He has to force himself to stay focused.

“How many beds do you need?” She asks.

Hmm. He’s not against sharing a bed, but Kurt may want some room to layout after all of this.

“How much for two beds?”

The woman’s lips pull into an almost predatory grin. The kind that scalpers wear outside of sold-out concerts. s. “For a night? 76.”

He tries to see if she’s joking- surely she must be. “76? For here? Are you fucking serious?”

“Hey buddy,” The lady says, voice stern, and sharp as a whip. “If you’re here you got nowhere else to go- it’s a convenience fee. You’re welcome.”

He forces himself to stay calm and watch his temper. “How much for one bed, then?”

“45.” She says, smugly, even though the posted prices he manages to just barely see on the faded yellow appear behind her head says 27.

Logan keeps his bitching internal and checks his wallet. Until he can hit an ATM - all that he's got is a 100. Only, he doesn’t have a debit card- Kurt does. BUT there’s also nowhere around here that takes debit. So for now, they’re screwed.

“One bed then,” Logan says, handing over the cash while grumbling to himself.

“Here ya go hun,” she says, much more pleasant as she passes him a key. “Room twelve- bottom level. Housekeeping’s off tonight, there’s no breakfast, there’s no room service, and if the cops come busting down the door you’re responsible for the damages. Got it?”

“Got it.” Logan takes the key and exits without exchanging any more ‘pleasantries’ with the old hag.

So it’s not the four seasons. But just like he told Kurt early, they’re going to have to make do.  
Besides, Logan recalls several places out west that used to be much worse. The only plus side is that a lot of them came with their hookers-but that’s another story.

He jogs back to the truck, opening the passenger side and having to catch Kurt as he falls out. “Fuck.” He hisses. “Fuck fuck fuck.” The man’s limp. “Kurt?” He asks- trying to get a response from him. “Hey, Elf?” He gently taps his face. “Come on, wake up.”

There’s no response and his breathing is starting to get shallow. Whatever the fuck this is? It’s getting worse by the second.

“FUCK!” He curses, as he manages to drag Kurt from the truck into the room-lucky the place is empty so no one’s around to see what Logan’s sure looks like a kidnapping.

The room itself is a blur. He gets Kurt on the bed, laying him in his back and starting to check vitals. During this, Kurt manages to open his eyes just a sliver before saying something that Logan doesn’t quite understand. It’s not German, and sure as fuck ain’t English.

Logan doesn’t know what else to do other than start breaking everything down. Kurt’s been vomiting heavily- so that runs the risk of dehydration. He’s been weak- also a sign of dehydration. After Logan touches his forehead, he adds ‘high as fuck fever’ to the list.  
The only thing Logan can think to tackle right off the bat is the fever. He’ll start to get the fever down, and they’ll call someone. He strips Kurt down and puts him in the shower- which is a tub/shower combo. So the back of the tub and wall can hold him up straight and not let him drown- hopefully. Logan realizes that the tub and shower can’t run at the same time and figures that if he plugs the tub and runs cold water from the showerhead, Kurt will get cooled down and then stay cooled down from the collected water.

“Come on elf.” He says as he starts the shower, taking the man’s hand and checking his pulse at his wrist. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Got me? You are okay.” He’s afraid to leave his friend for a second and knows that he’s going to have to get to a phone. Kurt just looks like death and he’s terrified he’s going to choke… or drown-- or whatever. He can’t be the guy who let one of his fellow x-men die in a shower in a motel. That’s the worst way he can imagine going.

Back in the bedroom where he’s left Kurt’s clothes, he can hear his cell go off- even over the running water. However, it’s a bad time for a call. A second after it stops ringing, the dingy room phone starts to ring.

“The fuck?” He hisses, trying to position Kurt to where he can quickly go grab the phone, but it stops ringing before he gets the chance. When that stops ringing, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. Which is freaky as fuck because the phone wasn’t in his pocket when he entered the room. If it had been- he would have used it by now. He fishes it out and is surprised to see that the caller is an actual contact he named- he doesn’t do that often. He keeps his kids, Kurt, and maybe Kitty- but that’s it. This is a horrible time for someone to be calling him for a favor or some other bullshit. But (Hopefully luckily) it turns out that this is Stephen Strange calling- and he was an actual doctor- right? Maybe he can help?

He answers with a gruff. “What do you want, Strange?”

“Sorry to bother you,” The man calling doesn’t seem offended by Logan’s gruffness and even sounds pleasant. “But I was wondering if perhaps you know where your friend Nightcrawler is? I believe he may have come across something that could be making him ill. I went to the x-men and Mr. Summers said, on top of many unrepeatable things, that Kurt was probably with you.”

What the hell would Kurt have come into contact with that Strange would need to get involved??? Logan just finds himself still- almost frozen- wondering just how bad his buddy is fucked over right now.

“Hello?” Strange asks. “Logan? Are you there?”

“Yea- yea, sorry,” Logan says, snapping back to it.

“Do you know where Kurt is? There’s a chance that he is currently or will shortly become very ill and I would like for him to be looked over just in case there’s a chance of that happening.”

Again- all Logan can think is ‘what the fuck’ over and over and over. “Yea- he’s with me.” Logan looks at the passed out man in the shower. “And he’s sick as hell- has been for the last two hours or so. We thought it was a hangover. ”

“If only. “ Strange sighs. “Is there any way I could talk to him and see how he’s feeling to judge what actions need to be taken?”

Logan looks down at his friend. “He’s unconscious- I had to throw him in a shower because he’s running a really bad fever… and it’s all I could think to do.”

“How long has he been unconscious?” Strange asks.

“Uh… maybe the last ten-ish minutes?” Logan says, watching Kurt’s face get paler and paler.

“Okay, okay. Let me see here,” He seems concerned yet calm as Logan hears him searching through something- like a drawer of some sort.

“Strange- we don’t have a hospital or an ER- I don’t even have a first aid kit.,” Logan says urgently. “He’s unresponsive in a motel bathtub. Tell me what to do.”

Logan’s not one to show his fear in front of others but fuck it- he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.

“Okay well first, calm down and don’t let him drown in the tub.” Strange says, stepping into ‘doctor’ mode easily. “Can you describe what his symptoms were before he lost consciousness?”

Logan takes a deep breath, trying to keep his head on straight. “Vomiting, fatigue, and then he passed out,” He says, keeping his sentences short and to the point.

“Okay, so you’re gonna want to make sure he’s not in a position where if he gets ill again he’ll choke. Keep doing that and keeping an eye on him. Tell me where you are and I’ll make a portal to you and come see what can be done.”

This should be very simple and start forward- but Logan? Logan is FREAKING out, now. He knows what he has to do and fuck yes- he’s going to do it. “I don’t even know where we are!” Logan says in pure frustration that he hasn’t taken the time to figure that out.

“Okay, no problem.” Strange says. “Just go to your map app and send me your location. Easy.” He waits, “You got it?... hello?”

Logan has a hard time with certain aspects of his phone. What can he say- he’s old. He manages to send the location, but he manages to hang up in the process.

Maybe fifteen seconds after the message is sent, Strange is walking through a large portal and straight into the bathroom. Unlike all the other time’s Logan sees him ‘professionally’ Doctor Strange is here minus the cloak/cape/whatever the fuck he wears and dressed far more casually in slacks and a button-up shirt that makes him look more ‘normal doctor’ and less ‘sorcerer supreme’. Logan doesn’t give him more than once over as he motions for the man to hurry.

“He’s in the tub.” He says though he’s sure he already told their rescuer.

“Afternoon gentlemen.” Strange says pleasantly, moving into the cramped bathroom. “Logan, move over, please.” He says, forcing Logan further off to the side as drops to his knees in front of the tub near Kurt’s head. “You are wrecked.” He says quietly while he checks for a pulse and “Poor guy.” He turns his attention back to Logan. “He’s alive but he’s been drastically weakened. Nothing I can’t fix.”

“And how weakened is ‘drastically weakened’, exactly?” Logan asks while moving closer to the tub where he can keep an eye on Kurt and whatever Strange is going to do to ‘fix’ him.

Strange cocks an eyebrow. “Drastically. It seems that something’s taken root inside of him that shouldn't be there.”

Root inside him? Strange's involvement. Fuck. This is going to be magic bullshit. 

“Like a possession?” Logan asks, starting with the worst-case scenario and working backward.

“Not quite. Be quiet for a moment, please. I need to focus.” Strange says in concentration as he takes a hold of Kurt’s face, turning it side to side and running his hand a few centimeters over his skin, starting at his chest and slowly moving up to his forehead. His hand starts to emit a small ball of light that gets brighter and brighter the closer to Kurt’s forehead he gets. The light in his hand flickers from hot white to blue for a second before becoming white again. Strange looks at it almost approvingly. “Ah. I see.” He says, very much at ease now. “ So this is where you got off to, is it? Well, the ride’s over. Out you get.” Without any sort of explanation, he holds his other hand near Kurt’s head as well while still emitting that same white light. “Oh come on.” Strange says in a frustrated tone. “He’s not who you’re looking for so out you get.”

“Out WHAT gets?” Logan asks.

“Shush.” Strange says, closing his eyes and continuing to hold the bright white light near Kurt’s head. A purplish/black mist starts to come from Kurt- first a little then a lot- as if someone was running a humidifier filled with fuck off the mystic mist. “Oh, come on, now.” Strange says in annoyance. “Don’t be spiteful. OUT.”

Logan doesn’t know what he’s trying to pull out of Kurt but he sure is pulling a hell of a lot of it out. The mist is still pouring out and is soon joined by this high pitched screech that makes Logan want to go into a murderous rage. “All this fuss!” Strange scolds, becoming more and more annoyed. “Come on now. OUT!!”

Just as suddenly as the screeching started, it stops. Strange actually falls forward a little with the force of whatever the hell he’s pulling out having finally been pulled out. “Look at you!” He stands up to his feet with a grin, a large buzzing and pulsing purple orb between his hands. “Look at you.” He repeats. “Logan, would you mind reaching into my pocket and pulling out a stone for me? I forgot to retrieve it and I don’t want to risk this little bastard getting away again.”

Logan makes a habit of not digging in other men’s pockets and most especially not sorcerers- but to be truthful, this is very interesting. He leans up and reaches into the pocket and removes a hand-sized black stone with an unnatural chill to its surface.

“Thank you.” Strange says. ”Now please set it on the side of the tub.”

He does so, noting that Kurt’s face is gaining some color back already- meaning that whatever the fuck is in that orb had to have something to do with this illness.

“Thanks.” Strange slowly moves his hands over the stone- the second the purple orb touches the cold black surface it’s absorbed so quickly that it just seems to blink out of existence- happening to make the most indescribable noises that Logan’s ever heard.

“Okay…. What the fuck is THAT?” He asks, pointing at it.

“Patience.” Strange scolds as he leans down again and runs his hand over the air around Kurt- minus the light and the mist, this time around. “Now, that’s that.” He says, looking back to Logan with a reassuring smile. “It seems that Kurt here got tagged by a wayward spark from a little power transfer we had to do this morning. I suspected it and gone to him or one of his siblings. But there are SO MANY of them.” He says the last with a good-natured laugh. “It’s all well and good now though, I suppose.”

Logan can look at Kurt- hear see and smell him. The man is recovering. Whatever the fuck that thing Strange put into the rock was making him sick. Now that it’s gone? He doesn’t seem to be in any real danger. “You gonna tell me what the fuck just happened here?” Logan asks. “Not that I don’t enjoy people pulling screaming mist fuckers out of my best pal’s face and all. I just kinda like to know why they’re doing it.”

“Yea… I can imagine this is pretty weird to someone who doesn’t do this on a day to day basis,” Strange chuckles. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. Go ahead and turn the shower off, will you? It’s a long explanation and I don’t want to have to talk over it.”

Logan looks at him uneasily for a second. “He’s running really hot.” He says. “I don’t think it’s safe-”

“Trust me, it’s perfectly safe. He’ll appreciate not being soaked to the bone when he wakes up, I’m sure.” Strange sits down on the bathroom floor, sitting a lotus position as if he’s going to start meditating. Logan doesn’t know how to address that and therefore hopes that this will be a sort of ‘talk verbally to explain it’ situation and not a mystical in your head explanation kind of thing.

Understandably, Logan’s just a tad unsettled by all of this. Who wouldn’t be?  
...besides the wizard man who just pulled a screaming mist whatever the fuck out of unconscious man’s body.

“....so you’re sure he’s gonna wake up then?” Logan asks cautiously.

“A hundred percent.” Strange says with a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be fine, you have my word.”

Logan sits down on the tile as well, willing his mind to ease off the unease and dulled panic.  
Strange is powerful- but he’s not dangerous.  
...Logan hopes, anyway.

He’s seemingly happy as hell to be here. His face is clean-shaven and his hair is still in that ‘perfectly held together by gel even though he swears not to use it’ way. Going gray at the sides though, Logan notes with amusement. Must suck for these wizard types to not be able to stop something as simple as graying hair.

Logan leans forward and turns the shower off. Kurt’s already 1000 times better. Kinda makes Logan just a little more nervous about the stone that’s just sitting on the edge of the tub holding whatever the fuck a ‘spark’ is inside of it.

“Agh, today has been such a mess.” Strange says with a sigh as he rubs his temples. “And it’s not even 3 PM,” He lifts the black stone and stares at it for a second. “I’ve been tracking this little bastard since 9 am- would you believe it? ” He brings the stone eye level, examining it closely. “You have caused so much trouble!” He fusses at it. “I am going to enjoy uncasting you.”

Logan stares at him for a long moment- waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. He's gonna need to ask the questions here. 

“When you say ‘uncasting’ you don’t mean shoving it back in Kurt, right? Cause yeah- that’s not gonna happen.”

“No no no.” Strange laughs. “Of course not. When I say ‘uncasting’ I mean destroying it entirely and scrubbing it from existence.”

“Good.” Logan nods -trying to play off his massive confusion if only ever so slightly. “Good- so long as we’re clear.”

“Crystal clear.” Strange says pleasantly. “Now, where do I start with this explanation?” He pauses for a moment before asking, “I don’t suppose you’re familiar with how spells are cast- are you?”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Can’t say that I am. Why don’t you skip that part and tell me exactly what the fuck that thing is and why it tried to kill Kurt.”

Logan knows that those are gonna be some pretty big questions Kurt will have upon waking up. Might as well try to answer them now.

“That's not at all possible but- but I will try my best.” Strange says. “Before we start, let me say that in all honesty it wasn’t out to kill him. It’s not technically that kind of magic. It was trying to use him as a power source. Which would not have hurt him if he had the power it was looking for. Since he didn’t it latched on to the next best thing it could find to sustain itself- which, unfortunately, appears to have been his life force.” He pauses before saying, “So okay, I guess that it was trying to kill him but at the same time it wasn’t.”

Drain his life force?? The hell kind of explanation is that?? 

“Back the fuck up.” Logan scowls, tone forceful and rightfully angry, in his opinion. “It took his life force??? And you have it in your hand?? Get that fucker out of here!!!”

The sorcerer laughs away Logan’s outburst. “Logan- please, don’t worry! I wouldn’t leave it this close to him if it were still active. It’s completely harmless now!!” Strange lifts the stone for Logan to see, “See? All nice and contained. A baby could use this as a teething toy and not have the slightest of adverse reactions. I’ll take it back to the Sanctorum with me and it will be erased from all of existence so as never to hurt another person ever again. No one in this room is any danger. With it contained in this stone, you’re more likely to take injury from a paper cut.”

Logan can’t get his head around everything that’s happened here. Not yet, anyway. He’s got a pretty good bullshit handling ability usually but fuck it. Right now it means jackshit. Today has been confusing and upsetting and slightly scary…. And now there’s a wizard with some fuck off thing in a rock. Strange is a guy who’s usually on the up and up. And if he swears it’s not going to hurt anyone…. Well Logan trusts him. (Mostly).

Still- that fucker is making him nervous. “You’re sure it’s not gonna kill anyone?”

“100%,” Strange assures.

Logan nods in acknowledgment. “If it’s not going to be draining anyone else…. Fine. Tell me what it is exactly. Why was it in Kurt?”

“It,” Strange says while holding the stone out to Logan to take a closer look. “Is a spell.”

“.... a spell,” Logan repeats, seeing something swirl within the rock. “It's a spell.” His voice is dripping disbelief. “He was possessed by a spell.”

“He wasn’t possessed- spells can't do that. They can attach themselves to certain individuals, though. So yes, he was unwillingly attached to a spell. Well, a spark of one, anyway.”

“Spells can spark,” Logan repeats. “Just like that. You fuckers are constantly throwing these things at each other knowing they can just…. ‘Spark’ and attach to and subsequently kill innocent people?”

Strange groans loudly. “Why do you always do that awful over-generalization thing? SOME spells can Spark. SOME spells can attach themselves to others. SOME. NOT ALL. MY spells for instance? Never spark. I am very much in control.”

Logan can sense that he seems to hit a nerve, so he holds his hands up in a ‘calm down, I surrender’ fashion. “Sorry, sorry.” he apologizes quickly. “SOME spells can spark. One attached to Kurt. So I’m guessing you didn’t cast it?”

“Correct. And between you and me, sparking and splintering spells are just the bane of my existence. Worse than any form of curse I’ve ever encountered. I have been pushing and pushing for SOME form of stricter regulation for years! But do they listen to me? No. Don’t trust the human who spends all of his very little spare time cleaning up these damn things. What could he possibly know?”

There’s a shit ton of resentment in the man’s voice that lets Logan know that yea- everything he's saying is sincere. Heartfelt. This does seem to have just been some kind of freak accident.

….though he still doesn’t exactly understand what exactly the accident was.

“Okay- rewind. So it’s a spark of a magic spell,” Logan repeats, trying to get the man back on topic. “Like…. Your brand of magic bullshit. Which is why you had to come to make this little housecall to pull it out of him.”

“Exactly.” Strange responds. “I’m not in the business of making non-magical house calls these days.”

Logan repeats everything that’s been said mentally- or at least, the general gists of it before reacting.“I’m tracking but I’m still confused as to how Kurt could have had anything to do with a spell in the first place. He doesn’t do magic. He couldn't have cast it and I don’t think he knows anyone that would have thrown one at him.

“Oh no- Kurt didn’t cast a spell or have it cast at him, he just came into contact with one that latched onto him.”

Logan nods in a 'continue' sort of fashion, more curious than fearful at the moment. Even though fear would be much more understandable at this point. “So do spells do this often?”

“Not really. But there are a million things that can go wrong if you’re not careful enough. Most of them are minor though- like having something blow up in your face and scorch your eyebrows. Or… turning your nails blue for a month. Stupid things like that. Most of the big spells, like this bad boy right here, are cast very carefully under heavy rules and regulations. When spells ‘spark’ it’s not usually this bad.” Strange lifts the tock again, “Trust me, no one is stupid enough to release this one on purpose. It is ANYTHING but a regulation spell.”

“....it’s an illegal spell?” Logan asks- once again lost. He’s not afraid of asking questions, but fuck. He feels as if he’s trying to understand a complicated foreign text using only google translate.

“This spell…” Strange hums, “ Its very nature is chaotic as it’s been remodified far too many times to be safe. When a spell is modified it changes the structure. That structure- the thing that keeps the spell together- is made within a set of guidelines that the caster used to control it. Each time a spell undergoes a modification that structure and therefore the safety guides that it came with breaks down. The safety measures get weaker, but the spell gets more powerful. It’s not wise to modify a spell more than twice. If it requires that much work, it’s best to just scrap it and start over.” He sighs, and shakes his head. “This little guy has been modded SEVEN times.”

Logan looks at the man’s complete look of aggravation as he stares at the stone. “You couldn’t just… stop whoever cast it from doing that?” Logan asks. “Aren’t you like… On top of all this magic shit?”

“It’s a tad more complicated than that, I’m afraid.” Strange shifts, rolling his neck from side to side and sighing when a pop “Crack” can be heard. “See, I can handle most human magical issues- no problem. I have a lot of weight I can throw around usually. But as you can guess, humans aren’t the only ones involved with magic and magical issues. And sometimes, to keep things running smoothly, we have no choice but to bring in outside help. And if that help is otherworldly in any capacity- they don’t necessarily have to follow my orders. They have to work within a contract I made for them- but they are REALLY good and working loopholes… and a lawyer I am not.” He sighs wistfully. “I’m a supervisor having to reprimand my employees through the underworld’s shittiest HR department. This spell is of demonic origins. Hence why it is so strong, so negative, and so chaotic. Even before the mods it was unpredictable. Its caster is a being we’ve recently been keeping on retainer- if that makes sense.”

“...uh-huh,” Logan says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Strange rubs his temples again. “I’m sorry Logan, this is a ton of information and you asked for a simple expulsion. I truly am at least attempting to be concise.”

“No no," Logan responds, in a much calmer and more accepting tone than any of his previous statements. “It’s cool. As long as it’s not going to jump out of your little rock there...I got nowhere else to go. Explain away. Might make for a cool story later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure. Why not. This place only gets 3 stations. I’m sure whatever this demon magic shit is will be much more entertaining. Not like Kurt’s gonna be up and walking anytime soon.” Logan shrugs nonchalantly. “Go on. Continue.”

“If you're sure.” Strange shrugs, pausing before continuing with, “So onto the demon caster... He’s modded this spell with increasingly more and more specific properties. Honestly, very recklessly because he was becoming tired of its use every night and was trying to save himself some pain. Demons have a great and mysterious devastating powerset and the spell became … attached to its caster because of the power it got from him. Somewhere along the lines, he added a blood bonding process- most likely to try and make it slightly more stable. Who knows? Really what it boiled down to was that he was using the same spell every night for months and it was taking more and more power to keep running. Power that admittedly, we weren’t giving him enough time to recharge between uses.”

“Are you saying that demons can get tired?” Logan asks, in disbelief. “Cause I’ve faced off with a few and they didn’t seem to be the ‘call it a night’ type.”

“Of course they get tired. Everyone can get tired. It just takes longer to show up. Think of it this way. When YOU do strenuous activity, do you tire out easily?”

Logan shakes his head.

“Now when your teammates or friends or whoever does the same activity you're doing, do they get tired long before you do?”

“...yea?” He responds with both amusement and judgment in his tone, wondering what kind of stupid ass questions that is.

“Right. So A demon being a powerful creature who’s been alive for a very long time and amassed a great deal of ability in many categories obviously wouldn’t get tired as easily as you would. Whereas you can go for hours after your teammates stop, a demon could go for weeks, months even. It’s all got to do with how much power they’re expending and on how many things they are expending it on. Power needs to be generated. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to slow down to regain what they’ve spent.”

Logan keeps focused on Strange, taking in his words and expressing his understanding every once a while via nodding to show, showing he’s listening.

“Our demon pal has been pretty drained. I haven’t lined up a replacement because I was, quite foolishly, sure that the issue we were addressing with his power and subsequently this spell, would be solved by now. But, there were some complications. He’s been taking a lot of damage and honestly, I should have pulled him for health reasons long before now. He just happens to be very good at this job and we needed him for as long as we could have him. This morning I got an early call from telling me that he could not handle the spell in any capacity for a week. This is practical. Demon’s have this practice of ‘recentering’. Taking periods to rest and use very little energy so they can get back to full power. I suspect that he’s had to take one of these breaks. I have no right to force this energy out of him when he’s already given so much and it’s causing him actual pain.” He gestures to the stone. “Still, someone had to take care of that spell. Power it. Use it. Contain it. I am not capable of doing so, unfortunately. And trust me- I tried. I could touch it three mods ago but now? I can’t contain it without the help of a binding element like this little stone here. And even then, did you see how I had to force it out? This spell has become so personalized, so attached to its caster, that it takes on almost … Well, not human characteristics- it’s energy, after all. But it’s become a very small echo of some of its casters personality. Stubborn- that is. This spell is so stubborn that now it must be destroyed entirely because it will not work properly if its caster isn’t the one using it.”

Logan listens carefully, taking in every word. Committing it to memory.  
He doubts Strange will still be around when Kurt comes to and he’ll have to answer a LOT of questions. Besides- what until he tells some of the team what exactly happened here. It’s gonna be a hell of a story.

“So I can understand all that…. mostly. It makes some kind of fucked up sense, I guess. But my real question is that if it was so personalized and so powerful- how the fuck did it get into Kurt? I was with him all night and I think I would remember if we went somewhere… magical?”

“This is where it got just a tad tricky.” Strange explains. “The plan we had was to find a new guardian for the spell- for lack of a better term- and send it to them. Which I did. A magical transfer of spells or power is usually very easy. I stay in my designated casting and receiving area and the person I’m sending it to stand in theirs. It’s usually very low risk and completely safe and we thought this would be the same. But again- this spell is a chaotic fucker- so there were some issues of sending it where it needed to go. The woman I was sending it to did get it- but not in full. Somewhere between point A and point B it had splintered. The splinter was now most definitely because Kurt was near the transfer path it was being sent through. The caster happens to be Kurt’s father- as I’m sure you would have eventually guessed. As such, when it was made clear that there was a being with its casters blood- it went straight to him. It’s taken us this long to sort out which of Azazel’s children was affected though because the man breeds like a weed. Or a rabbit….Maybe a hybrid of both.”

Logan chuckles at that. Never heard Kurt’s ol’ man be described like it- but the description fits.

“Anyway, it leeched all the power it could from Kurt and when it didn’t receive the output Azazel gives it- it started to attach itself to any source of energy it could find. His fast health decline was probably a result of him becoming conscious- if it hit him this morning when he was sleeping- the energy tap would have been slow. But when he was up and moving- there was more energy to tap. That’s why he passed out, why he was sick to his stomach, and probably why he’s going to have the world’s worst hangover when he wakes up.” Strange looks at Logan with a ‘what can you do’ sort of expression. “And that is that. I’ll take this back home, break it into a million pieces, and Azazel will be reprimanded for unsafe magical practices. Kurt’s going to be fine, there will be no lasting side effects, and I suppose the two of you can go about your business so long as he gets some rest.”

Rest?  
Here? Not likely. Logan’s going to have to haul him home- which he just knows Kurt is not going to be happy (or quiet) about. Logan groans, tilting his head back. “Fuck.”

“...you have a problem with that plan?” Strange asks, looking at him with just a hint of amusement- as if Logan’s reactions were ‘funny’ in some fashion.

Logan sighs, closing his eyes. “Ugh. He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up and I tell him we gotta get back in the truck and go home. God. I’m gonna hear him bitch all the way.” Logan pauses. “Unless you could make sure he stays passed out until we get home?” He asks hopefully.

“Sorry…. No.” Strange responds with actual regret. “That wouldn’t be safe.”

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Logan grouses.

Strange looks genuinely off-put as if he’s seriously feeling affected by Logan’s predicament. “I am sorry that this mistake of ours has ruined your plans. It doesn’t seem fair that your friend gets so ill and then missed out on the rest of his free weekend. I believe a night spent doing something fun- and not physical- could help with the process of recovery much faster than sitting around your mansion back in New York.”

“Yea… well… we can’t take your fancy portals and just go wherever we want.” Logan sighs. “Life’s a bitch like that.” He pulls himself to his feet. “Really do appreciate your help, Strange. And ya know- the whole magic demon power story was pretty damn amusing. But we’re gonna have to hit the road soon.”

Logan is dreading that drive. But then- he’s not going to force Kurt to be in some little bumfuck nowhere bars tonight- where could they possibly get at this point that will give them enough of a night out before they have to turn and come back?

Strange looks him over for a long minute before raising an eyebrow. “If you promise to let him rest, I can arrange for you to … take a night off in a more desirable location. It’s the least we can do after the mishandling of this whole thing.”

“Yeah- right.” Logan chuckles. “That’ll happen.”

“It’s completely possible for someone who’s suffering the effects of a mishandled spell due to carelessness on behalf of a magical official, of sorts, to be granted a…. ‘Settlement’? Off the books. Of course, such an arrangement would be slightly under the table and done in a very ‘hush-hush’ sort of way. Certain magical items are not supposed to be given to non-magically inclined humans…. But they are SO easily misplaced. And so easily written off of the books when missing ” Strange continues to 'theoretically' explain. “Should a teleportation orb accidentally be left behind by an exhausted sorcerer and you were to find it- then it would be completely out of my hands as teleportation orbs fall under the category of ‘finders keepers’.” He starts to appear as if he's suddenly lost in thoughts. “And, should you find it and theoretically understand that you simply have to agree to tell it where to go and it will take you there for ONE trip, then it would also be out of my hands if you used it or not.”

Logan can’t help but think that the man may… may just be serious. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now,” Logan says, looking the man up and down as he moves to his feet and walks back into their room.

“Of course I'm not.” Strange says, moving his hand over the bed and leaving behind a very large glass ball. “Darn, I just can’t keep up with those things. Tell Kurt I hope he feels better!” He waves goodbye to them and opens a large portal, walking through and leaving the room just as if he’d never been here.

“Elf you will not believe the bullshit you just slept through.” He grouses as he takes a seat beside the tub and waits for Kurt to wake up.

It takes a good bit and Logan’s slightly dozing off leaned against the wall when it happens.

“...the hell?” He hears Kurt groan, splashing some water onto Logan as he sits up- clutching his forehead.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” Logan chuckles, keeping his eyes closed. “You missed one hell of a clusterfuck.” Logan raises up, watching Kurt try to understand where he is and probably how he ended up here. That’s what Logan would want to know if he were in his pals shoes- at any rate.

“... Do I want to know why I’m in a freezing tub?” Kurt asks after a long few moments.

Logan laughs, thinking of all the ways he can fuck with his friend now that he’s feeling better. Going through all the bullshit he could tell him before realizing that, ironically, the biggest way to mess with Kurt is to tell him exactly what happened. One, because it’s insane. And two, because Kurt won’t believe him anyway. “Honestly?”

“Please,” Kurt says tiredly with a weak nod.

“....probably not.” He grins

“Why don’t we just…. Pretend the last 24 hours didn’t happen?” Kurt suggests. “I feel that may be easier than trying to figure… whatever this is, out.”

Logan watches his friend in great amusement. “If that’s what you wanna do….”

Kurt sighs, nodding. “.....You didn’t take any organs out did you?”

“I thought we were going to pretend that the last 24 hours didn’t happen,” Logan responds smugly.

“That's not funny,” Kurt says, scowling in that way that Logan has come to enjoy. There’s no pleasure equal to giving your best friend a hard time. Everyone should do it at least ten times a day when able. Good for the soul, in Logan’s opinion.

“I mean… you said it didn’t happen…..”

“Please tell me nothing was taken out of me,” Kurt says. “Waking up like this does not look all too ‘normal’ from my position.”

“Okay, you big baby.” Logan laughs. “No. NO organs were taken out..” He pauses for effect “But if you want me to be completely honest about what happened in here, Stephen Strange did come all the way out here just to take like some sort of lifeforce leeching spell out of your head.”

There’s a pause before Kurt responds with a sarcastic, “Very funny, Logan. FIne. Don’t tell me.”

Just as Logan thought. The story, regardless of all the x-men bullshit they’ve been through, is not something Kurt will believe.

“What?” He laughs. “I’m being serious!”

“No you’re not.” Kurt scoffs. “You’re being an ass.”

“I’m being completely serious. You got all magically fucked over. I dragged you into the tub. Strange sucked a spell thingy out of you.”

“...sure he did.” Kurt gestures to the door to the door. “Get my clothes, please.”

Logan does so without complaint, sitting them on the toilet seat and pulling down one of those too big towels from a wire shelf over the sink. “You did have a magic spell in you.” Logan insists as he tosses the towel onto the floor beside the tub.

“I’m sure,” Kurt says, obviously not buying it. “Can you get out? I want to get dressed.”

“...sure I can’t-”

“OUT.” He says forcefully.

Logan sighs, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him, moving to the bed only to be reminded of the orb. He picks up with a smile rivaling a fucking Cheshire cat, knowing that this will be the proof he needs.

When Kurt comes out- he holds it out to him. “Teleportation orb. Sent by Doctor Strange. I was telling the truth.”

“...You’re not serious.” Kurt says, looking at him with a ‘please be joking’ sort of way.

“Not joking,” Logan says. “Look- orb. I don’t carry these fuckers around, do I? You think we’d be driving this far out in the truck if I had one of these bad boys handy?”

Kurt looks at it before frowning. “Fuck.” He rubs his temple before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Is there a short version of what happened today you can tell me?” He asks in a more than exasperated tone.

“Not really,” Logan says with a bemused sort of exhaustion. “It’s long as fuck.”

Kurt lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Okay- what’s the last thing you remember?”

“... a parking lot?”

“Very descriptive, Elf. I guess we’ll start at the top.” Logan takes a lays down at the foot of the bed on his back. “Get comfy” He cautions. “This is gonna take a while.”


	4. Gimme my way or face my wrath.  (either way, someone's going to be naked)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blow job at the end.  
> "Bratting' is used very loosely here. This by no means how it actually is but it is the only definition I could really use as a jumping-off point!

**Friday 12 PM**

**New York**

**Random Apartment of no noteworthiness**

When Daken Akihiro called his lovers today he was admittedly in a very bad mood. Anyone who knows Daken even slightly would know that putting him in such a mood is _not_ a good idea. Or a _SAFE_ idea- at that. If you were to induce _this_ bad of a mood, it would probably be in your best interest to lay as low as possible for as long as possible. Luckily for whoever sent him into this dreadful state of mind, they’ve remained nameless and unknown to him, thus allowing them to go completely unscathed and damning Daken to stew in his misery. Daken’s not one to mope really- not when there’s work to be done, at least. Right now? Right now there is no work to be done and the reason why is the exact reason he’s moping. This is a never-ending cycle of shit in his life this day and he is not here for it. 

In his older days- back when he had less of a…. ‘Emotional understanding,’ shall we say, he’d be out for blood. Now? He understands that you can’t just go stab someone over something as little as this. Things akin to this- yes. But not something _THIS_ stupid. 

Now who can not call this an improvement???

He’s letting the fucker who’s pissed him off so royally go without tracking them down to the ends of the earth and enacting revenge for an unreasonably petty slight. 

This is progress! And progress, Daken has noted, makes Johnny and Bobby happy. Daken is happy when Johnny and Bobby are happy and ergo progress also makes him happy. 

Daken has had to unlearn many things. He’s also had to learn many new things.

Okay- well, new to him, at least. These are principles ‘new’ to him as he’s been ordered to purposefully and quite violently reject them. They aren’t exactly ‘big’ things, either. They weren’t painful or weakening to his overall personality. Not like he was warned over and over again that they would be. 

They are small things in the outsider's eyes but mean so much to him. Frankly? He’s proud. Rightfully, this time around. This isn’t a false sense of pride- he’s worked for it. He’s earned it. 

Nowadays in his ‘new’ life, he’s been trying to change for the better. 

Now? Now he’s ‘reasonable’. 

...okay as reasonable as Daken is capable of being.  
  


Progress may be painstakingly slow- but isn’t trying supposed to be half the battle?

….He’s decently sure he’s heard Summers utter some stupidity along those lines in recent days. He’s not sure though as he’s not stooped low enough to completely jump up and obey every ‘upstanding heroes’ order straight out the gate. He doesn’t pay attention to 85% of what Summers does and doesn’t say. Who would have so much self-hatred that they’d subject themselves to endless droning? For a man who makes the world turn by the weight of his own staunchly held morals and tightassery- Scott Summers spends an insane amount of time speaking. 

A truly insane amount of time. 

Daken has performed some social experiments and discovered that of all the x-men in his home he talks the most. This is of course excluding the kiddos. The Cyclops Soundtrack is a dull and droning one that you would play over some military assembly loudspeaker while the cadets are cleaning their bunk.

With such smash hits as “why are you walking around half-dressed?” and “who keeps keying my car????” Other fan favorites are ‘Please sign in when using the danger room’ and “Daken stop stripping in public’.  
  
Really the fact that should be taken from this observation is that Daken is in some capacity listening to ‘heroic minded’ idiots. That’s progress too. 

There is a never-ending list of past lovers and teachers, and teammates who will tell you just how awful Daken is. Just how selfish. Just so manipulative…..

And Daken can’t deny that. At all. He has always had a unique brand of self-absorption and stubbornness. The manipulation is more of a learned habit that came along with those. 

These are the results of the many lessons he had to take to heart- things he was forced to learn and hold in mind at all times.  
Now? Now it is different. He knows that things don’t work like that. A lot still do- yes. But you can’t approach every single relationship or interaction with such a horrible grasp on how to interact in situations that don’t call for violence or manipulation. 

He’s learned that maybe- just maybe- a person ignoring you isn’t a stabbing worthy event. Maybe being snubbed by someone doesn’t mean you have to stab them in their sleep. And most importantly- maybe, just maybe- he now understands that he can get what he needs and requires in ways that don’t involve the level of manipulation that he’s used to employing in this situation.  
  


….he’s working on it. 

...  
...slowly. 

He’s now aware that for the first time in YEARS, he’s in a good place. Emotionally _and_ physically. 

No dangerous drug binges and risky sexual exploits. No chances of causing any major crime-related issues. ( well, minimal chances, anyway. He’s working on that too). Daken isn’t running around like a lunatic because he doesn’t _feel_ like a lunatic anymore.

Though it’s had to be slammed through his skull to make it stick, the idea finally struck him that being emotionally dead _doesn’t_ help you. Not where it matters. He didn’t have to lash out in jealousy at those who had something he didn’t. He just had to work a little harder on himself and… well… what he was missing finally came along. 

There are so many things in Daken’s life at this moment that weren't there just a few years ago. Things he’s come to treasure. Things that he will absolutely, without fail, do anything within his power to protect. 

His lovers didn’t have to choose him. They didn’t have to stick through his bullshit. 

His family didn’t have to accept him after all he’d done. His sisters didn’t have to look out for him. His father didn’t have to be so set on helping him. 

His lover’s friends didn’t have to give him the chance to slowly prove that he was at least attempting to be better. 

No one _owed_ him these things. They didn’t _owe_ him a second chance after all the horrible things he’s done to blow the first. They didn’t have to- but they _did._

He wasn’t owed it- but it was given to him anyway. He didn’t steal it- it was free of charge. 

This was something he didn’t know how to accept at first and honestly? He still struggles from time to time. 

The fact that someone could look at him and weigh the things he’s done against the things he MAY do and decide that he was worth the effort... that people were able to look at him and see more than the outward shell…. 

He’s loved because he’s him- and that is so strange to him. He never gives himself a ‘get out of jail free’ card for his past. Yes, he was under someone else’s thumb, but he still did it. The only way he can make any sort of amends is to keep moving forward. To make something different out of all these tiny pieces Romulus has smashed him into

Maybe instead of using those pieces of himself that Romulus always shaped into a weapon, he can make a shield this time.

It seems like he’s got more to defend than he used to- a shield would be far more useful. 

Daken loves his home- no snide jokes or sarcasm- he loves it. Ceiling to floor, wall to wall- it’s him. He loves the furniture he fought his lovers over, he loves the floor he made Johnny regrout. He loves the endless amount of decent and good truly loving memories he’s made here with the men he loves. 

In all reality, for the first time in his over seven decades of life… Daken is happy, safe, and loved. 100% No strings. No requirements. No punishment. 

In all regards, he is more of a free man now than he has ever been.  
  
Part of him becoming ‘emotionally aware’ is accepting that he does have _emotions_. He knows- that’s a shocker. But… Johnny and Bobby… they make him want to keep pushing. 

Part of his aforementioned bad mood is because Bobby and Johnny are not here when he needs them

. ...okay, well, he doesn’t exactly _need_ them. But he wants them- and that counts for a lot in his books.

Obviously as an adult he knows that his loves can’t just drop everything they’re doing and rush to his beck and call. 

As fun as that would be, and as much as he used to expect it, he now understands that it’s not rational. That knowledge doesn’t mean he can’t be slightly miffed- though. 

He’s not going to scream at them or wreck their things but… he may pout until they’ve properly apologized. 

Now it really should be noted here neither Johnny nor Bobby have been gone for long. They’re not halfway across the globe and he saw them mere hours ago when they woke up- as they live together. Ya know- as healthy grownup couples do. Their separation can even be partially (if not more) blamed on Daken himself who would be able to easily join them had he not injured himself a few days go and ended up on a forced medical leave- though everyone KNOWS he’ll heal by the end of tonight, they insisted he sit out for a bit.

He knows good and well that this order for his ‘safety’ is conveniently given at a time in which the x-men are being interviewed by a prominent magazine. Daken may have possibly been a little too open when confronted with some paparazzi a while back. Kinda in a ‘mostly naked being taken out of a club’ sort of too open. And that may have possibly been technically his second strike? Or was it his third?  
Fuck- he may be up to four.  
  
Because of his ‘behavioral issues,’ the wonderful Mr. and Mrs. Summers do not let Daken take unscripted interviews anymore. He figures that’s a waste of opportunity more on the x-men’s part.

Look at him. 

Who wouldn’t want to stare at him in a magazine?? 

Who wouldn’t want to hang onto his every word? 

Did he end up flashing some gossip rag reporters? Sure. Did he call out a popular rockstar for using his nude photos only for it come into light that said photos were from a sex tape that he willingly agreed to be used in future projects? Yes. Yes it did. Did some of his exes decide to start an entire online storm to trash him? Yep. That happened as well. 

But look- in Daken’s mind, these are all instances that can be spun into the x-men’s favor! He’s naturally got the ‘bad boy’ appeal in spades. That’s all of what makes him so appealing to today’s audiences! Scott is a very stupid man not to see that. 

Then again, Daken doesn’t think he’s ever met or more repressed being in his entire life than Scott Summers. 

One of the few bonding points he has with his father is their shared dislike of Scott. 

Daken knows for a fact that he could be having the time of his life if he’d pull the stick out of his ass. For one, yes, Scott is very attractive. He also holds a great deal of power in many ways.  
For a bigger reason- he’s got one of the most potentially kinky romantic experiences one could have. A telepath for a lover is a fucking gold mine. Really. Someone who can read you that well- who knows every single like or kink you have hidden in your mind… who wouldn’t want to use that as often as possible??  
  


Oh, Daken will tell you.  
  


Scott.  
Fucking.  
Summers. 

The only way a telepath can be topped on the ‘possible kink scale’ is by a shapeshifter.  
And Daken can personally attest to just how intense that can be. Ya know- from his former slutty days.  
  


….Well… ‘sluttier’ days, at any rate.

All of this said, Daken just wants Johnny and Bobby to come home and shower him with attention. 

That’s a major step in healing, so he’s been told. Them staying away is prolonging his injury! Their respective ‘bosses’ honestly can’t want Daken to sit in sickness and pain- right? 

Yes- he’s aware of how these things sound.  
  


But… that’s also part of his deal…. A new part that was previously ill-defined. Technically it’s still ill-defined but mainly because he meddles with the definition at this point. You see, Daken has always had very snobbish and self-centered ways of function. For the most part, he was forced into that way of thinking by years of abuse and manipulation.  
  
Those things- those pieces of him- didn’t just go away. 

You can’t snap your fingers and completely change a personality. And if you can… you probably shouldn’t. At least so he’s been told.

If you can’t make it go away you can let it morph into something more… helpful. Well….not exactly helpful per se but in the very least something more manageable. 

This is where it starts to sound childish and as such, this is the part he is most easily triggered. 

It has come to his attention that there is a newer term in certain heightened sexual relationships- notably BDSM- called ‘brats’. Or ‘bratting’.  
  


Now, it needs to be said that neither Johnny or Bobby are turned on by anything remotely close to BDSM. For the most part, they’re very good boys who don’t like to step outside of too many lines as far as sex goes. 

Which is fine. Daken’s come to like that about them.   
It’s not the sex side of ‘bratting’ he’s adopting as much as the entire ‘attitude’ of the role.  
  
Daken was kept under Romulus for a very long time. While it was violent and sexual and painful, the one thing it was not was an ‘adult’ relationship. There was always very much the power dynamic of “I am in charge and you are under me.’ And in a fucked way, as everyone involved is aware of, this ended up translating into a very fucked up ‘parent/child’ relationship. Though it was completely one-sided.

This all ties together the fact that even though they do participate in a BDSM lifestyle, Daken does require, at times, for someone to kind of step into the reigns- as it were. Sometimes, no, he can’t make the best decisions. Sometimes- someone has to call it for him. 

What he’s been able to work on and work through is finding people he trusts to do so. People he knows that have his best interest in mind regardless of what is happening.

And you see…. His more selfish and ‘childish’ natures sort of just became another factor in their relationship. This is very hard for him to explain- which on its own is a feat as Daken is never one to hold his tongue or be at a loss for words.  
The point is, the old habits are now toned down in a way that lets him function while still… letting them out in softer versions of themselves. 

So ‘bratting’ has a loose definition of subs being bratty and well… everyone surely knows what a ‘brat’ is in unsexual terms. Daken is snippy and snarky and moody- everything he used to be in a negative way is now combined into something much more manageable and way less negative. Again- it is very hard for him to explain- the best way for people to understand is simply to observe. This handle is also something Johnny and Bobby can use to show him how inappropriate his behavior is at times. 

At this point in his life, Daken is (again) finally happy. He’s finally secure and safe. He can let himself look into new avenues of what he likes to do or who he wants to be- and this is all protected by a safety net he never expected himself to have. 

All of this said- he likes being a brat. His life is now ‘safe’. No one is going to punish him unjustly. He’s not going to come home and find his Master sitting on his bed with a pile of dead neighbors at his feet. He’s not going to go off on random revenge quests that end up with him dead. At this point, he's spent so much of his life unloved and in pain- unable to reach out for help or even properly understand his own emotional state. 

Now? 

Now things are different. Mostly good- but still, different. 

Now he has two lovers whom he would move mountains for. People who he can’t imagine a world without- people who center him. Who hold him down. 

They share a home, they share cars, they share dinners and a bed and a Netflix account- they’re even all on the same car insurance. 

This is all good and it’s all healthy. BUT- it is also, if you look at his past experiences, quite spoiling to Daken. And even if you don’t know exactly the loose terminology here- you’ll probably know that if there’s one thing that brats tend to love- it’s being spoiled. 

If you think about it, he’s always been that way- it’s just that in the past, he had no one to do the spoiling for him so he did it himself.  
Everything he wants and does is particular and articulate. The clothes he wears, the food he eats, his cars, his homes, his devices- he only wants the best. 

His pet peeves and superficial annoyances? Not getting his way, for starters. How dare Johnny insinuate that he would leave the house without getting dressed? How dare Bobby expect it not to take an hour or so? Everything in his realm has to spin exactly how he wants it or…. Well, he’s unhappy. He’s unhappy and _someone_ is going to fucking know it. 

All of this being said, it’s not as if he’s declawed or made any less dangerous. He’s still himself- this is just a part of him that’s been morphed into something else. Do not doubt for a minute that he is not willing to pop his claws and start stabbing at the drop of hat. Do not expect him to take offenses or slights easily. He’s getting better and he’s working hard, yes. But he is still a very proud man who doesn’t take much bullshit laying down. 

Though, does anyone expect differently at this point? Look at his family!

His old man has probably caused more stupid international incidents over the matters of pride than any world leader in the past sixty years. 

Daken still has the same power as always- raw power. Claws and blood and guts….Don’t let the semi ‘toned’ down exterior fool you. He is still willing and able to be cruel and merciless when called upon to be so. It's just that within the realms of this amazing relationship he's been blessed with- he gets to be spoiled when he’s not called upon to do so, and he loves it. 

This isn’t a one-way relationship in the slightest. If you’re wondering why it’s so easy for his lovers to go along with- you probably do not understand the intricacies that Daken Akihiro can bring the table. He can be both a person’s wet dream and their worst nightmare and swinging between the two at the drop of a dime. Daken is a noted sexual being- though, that is mostly a learned behavior and his ideas and mannerisms towards the topic are slowly evolving. HOWEVER- Johnny Storm and Bobby Drake, without giving too many details, are both VERY well taken care of. Daken can go many ‘extra’ miles other men wouldn’t because he wasn’t raised to think they were ‘extra’. Swallowing? Yes. That’s easy. Sex with no lube? Sure, why not? He’ll take positions that don’t even occur to him not to- things that both Bobby and Johnny say they do not want him to because they’re scared to hurt him. 

The sexual side of things is very complicated- no matter how many times it’s explained. All three of these men have very personal and very different scars- both physically and mentally. Things they have to deal with for instance are Bobby’s tendencies to want to hide and be ashamed of public displays of affection- even though he’s a sap for love dovey things. Hand holding. Walks on the beach. Kissing in a Ferris wheel- Mr. Drake loves to be swept off his feet. The issue they have with Johnny is that… well… Johnny’s hot-headed. He gets angry very easily by anti LGBT+ issues and yes, it’s a wonderful cause to champion for. Johnny went through some insanely rough times when he was discovering himself. There are a few things that happened- bully wise- that shaped some of his anger. However, he doesn’t need to be clapping back at random ass internet dickheads when he’s such a public figure. Luckily- for this- Daken has made him an unofficial account to go at it. They are both assumed that the account gets more traction than Johnny’s official amount but are sure to not say so around Reed- who deems himself a perfect candidate for the FF’s social media presence. He’s… horrible at it. Daken can do much better and even Sue- wife of the man who’s supposed to be fixing stuff- agrees that Daken has solid ideas and seems to understand the algorithms that these sites use. Which he does. His job is learning algorithms 

No one is complaining, though. So it's good all the way around. The different aspects of the relationship and his different partners makes him smile every time he thinks of them, even. 

Johnny and Bobby are separate ends of a spectrum as far as powers go. Then they're both on the same level as far as morality and the like while Daken falls in between them and in doing so, they're able to help him along with his 'not being so bad' way of thinking. 

Johnny, for instance, will indulge Daken just a tad more where Bobby will actively scold/punish him for his misbehaving. It's the best of both worlds for him- and they, in return, get mindblowing sex and the devotion of a highly trained assassin- willing to shed whoever's blood he needs to keep them safe and happy. 

Who wouldn't want that? 

Right now _he_ wants nothing more than to be held between Johnny and Bobby- straight in the middle of the bed. (Which in his opinion is the best spot in the bed.) But, regardless of what he wants- Johnny and Bobby went to work anyway. Yes- he wants them. Now. But, that’s not fair. HE has to keep repeating it to himself. There’s no pressing matter to demand they return for. He’s bored. He’s annoyed.  
That’s it.  
And regardless of what he tends to think, him being bored or annoyed or miffed does not count as a pressing matter.  
  
That’s the raw of it and he delights in knowing that his cooperation with that fact is progress. 

Besides, it is not as if Daken himself doesn’t work. He does a good bit of work from home. He does several things involving social media-related statistics and marketing. This is good in quite a few ways. One- it lets him make money. Having his own income is very important to Daken after having to live off whatever his Master gave him for so long. It’s also a way that allows him to ‘legally’ keep track of people of interest. Tracking every move and digital footprint. Did they give a shitty review on a local dinner? He knows it. Did they spend a suspicious amount of money on not so above the table websites? He knows it. He analyzes and tracks and quite recently has even learned how to hack simple systems. The technology of today astounds him- though he’d not admit it out loud. It’s a sort of shock that is semi-common amongst regenerators. Think of the leaps and bounds that have been made just in the span of a normal human’s life. Now think of how much can change with a person’s age that spans centuries. 

At this point in his life, not only is he able to keep a close eye on several potential persons of interest at once while being in the comfort of his own home but now? Now he’s able to monetize it. The more ‘morally ethical’ analytics, that is. Daken likes patterns- he likes trends. He likes to see how things work. Mainly, he likes to observe people. People watching is the one innocent thing he and his master did. And while he hates the man to his core- it’s not a… terrible memory. 

As it turns out? All of this works for him.

In fact? Turns out it works really _really_ well. Daken makes an insanely extravagant amount of money. More so than he’s ever made before- which is saying something. And this? This is all his. His financial obligations are split between three people, after all. So he’s driven his net worth into the millions- if not more- just over the last two years dicking around on a laptop. 

When a person gets ‘too’ interesting, he’s got the resources to hop on a plane and go ‘investigate’. When his little sister calls to complain that she’s hungry because Laura hasn’t had time to go shopping, he’s able to give the young teen anything she wants. Johnny and Bobby can have so many things now! He’s actively trying to help their sense of style evolve.  
So far it’s not working.  
  
But the point is- he’s financially stable on his own. Johnny and Bobby adding to it just means that he’s ….comfortable.  
No one is going to take his things just because they can. No one is going to strip him of all financial resources and means just to ‘teach him humility’. 

Along with the many things his stability allows him to do- it also allows him to do nothing if he so chooses. 

If he wants to take a week or two off? Fine. Go somewhere on vacation? Sure- why not? 

Sometimes it's just a good idea to take a day off and spend it at the gym. OR sparring with his siblings, perhaps. Maybe hanging around one of his lover's jobs, ever so tantalizing while they work?

Today, however, on a more somber note, Daken is not busy due to a situation not of his design. The person who’s pissed Daken off- the lucky unknown one? They were some idiot in spandex who managed to cut power to half of the damn city.  
No power is inconvenient in normal situations, yes. But in a city as big as New York? The issues that stem from a ‘simple’ blackout are never-ending. 

Traffic lights are out? Chaos. And New York City’s streets are already chaotic as is. 

Businesses are shut down- complex systems are thrown out of whack- there’s the sound of angry New Yorkers- who are already decently agitated, to begin with- going into fits of fury. 

Inside of Daken’s apartment? There’s less chaos, true. But he’s not much happier than those lovely New Yorkers down on the street. 

No power means no air conditioning. Which- fine. Manageable, he supposes. 

IT means no TV. Which come on, it’s noon on a Friday. Nothing is interesting on TV right now. No way. 

No power also means that there is no charging of devices- which is where he’s starting to get testy. He likes his devices. Day time TV may be shit, but there’s an endless number of entertaining things you can watch online.  
This brings him to the most annoying part of his day. WiFi. 

Without the power? He doesn’t have it. 

He’d have more luck data wise had Johnny not used most of their cell plans up by playing a fucking football app on data when WiFi was available.  
He can afford the overcharges. But until they get that settled, the devices are going to load slower and he _loathes_ slow connections. 

So, with no way to work and no way to have any real digital fun, he decides to start calling his loves. He knows they won’t come home but…. At least he’ll get to talk to them and let them know of his unhappy predicament. Besides, it’s Friday. What could they possibly be doing on a Friday? Isn’t that the day that people tend to slack off anyway? 

He started by calling Johnny to bitch and whine- but Johnny was mid-flight and had to get off within 30 seconds of answering. It’s not that he doesn’t have the tech to stay in contact while engulfed or airborne- he just gets very distracted while talking on the phone. This is a thing that affects EVERY part of his life. When he’s texting or chatting Johnny will walk into things, he’s walked off of things, he’s dropped things, he’s walked into people, he’s run into things in his car, he’s dropped food or drink all over himself, he’s run into windows while flying, clipped billboards, and even on one very bad day- become completely lost while airborne.  
Which was funny to Daken but not so much to Johnny or Sue- whom he was on his way to help.

So, Johnny was a no go as far as bitching. Which is for the best. He can’t be slamming into rich CEO’s corner office windows. It looks bad. 

Giving in to the fact that Johnny was currently unable to provide him with the expected response, he hung up and called Bobby. Bobby left later than Johnny this morning and he theorized that maybe he hadn’t got too far into whatever it is Scott has him doing and could take a call.  
Which- yea. Daken was right, he could. 

However the thing with Bobby- a thing that Daken does love in many situations- is that he’s a fixer. When there’s an issue presented, he starts to go through a process of finding an answer. As such, he started to offer Daken solutions.  
Daken didn’t want solutions. Daken wanted to bitch. Bobby was cutting off his intent at the knees. 

When Bobby caught onto Daken’s surliness and disinterest in fixing his situation, he playfully told him to go do some reading or something and that he was about to start class. He told Daken that he loved him and if there was an ‘actual’ emergency to come from this, to call the mansion directly. Any ‘non’ emergencies Daken could text him about and he’d answer when he was able.  
Again- this is a solution. Daken didn’t want it. 

He begrudging returned his lover’s affection and hung up, collapsing onto his couch and staring at the ceiling for an hour. At least. 

His apartment is a nice place. Well furnished- which he did- obsessively cleaned ( which he also does), kept to a comfortable and agreed temperature mostly- when the air isn’t fucking up. Then again, when Johnny and Bobby are home, that’s not an issue. Being caught between fire and ice is Daken’s favorite sensation.  
  
It sounds corny- the whole ‘caught between fire and ice’ phrasing. Daken thinks that if he doesn’t word it carefully enough, his descriptions tend to air on the ‘back of a shitty supernatural teen romance novel’ territory  
  
There’s a thing that always bugs him about those. A bone he’d like to pick with the slew of authors in the genre. Why do they make this young woman choose? Why does there have to be a choice? If that love triangle is so ‘tense’ why not just… do both?  
He knows that his opinion is coming from one of a polyamorous person- but still. It’s as if the author’s never thought of this. Daken wishes that this young lady who’s going to save the world would just take both dudes and go save the fucking world. Who cares about the ‘subtle’ differences? Love isn’t always bound to a monogamous lifestyle. Also, he can’t help but wonder why the two rivals don’t just fuck and get it over with. 

All he knows is that two lovers are better than one. That’s it. Full stop. 

His mind slowly rotates through thoughts like this as he watches youtube on his slow as fuck connection as his phone’s battery percentage slips lower and lower.  
A literal countdown until complete and total boredom. 

As time crawls by him at a snail’s pace, his youtube app seems to become stuck in the ‘play the same two ads for the same product’ groove. It slowly evolves into the before unskippable ads and the in-video spontaneous ones. The ad is a travel destination ad. And fuck- it looks late 90’s quality. The sound is loud and the colors in the background are bright and obnoxious and the scenes over them are faded and shitty looking.  
Someone needs to fire their marketing team. It’s THAT bad. At least the normal ads have a certain level of professional quality to them. 

This? This is a fucking mess. 

It’s so fucking annoying that by the third video that’s interrupted by it, Daken is mocking it back to his cellphone. Those cheesy lines and voices slowly boring into his brain. He can hear it long after it’s faded- it’s really one of those ‘sticks with you’ things. But for all the wrong reasons. 

Now, Daken doesn’t describe himself exactly as someone that you would call ‘impressionable’ He’s usually a hard sell on … well, everything. He is a person who very much practices his desires and thoughts over those that have been suggested. Also, his occupation lets him see things as they are- ploys for cash or patronage. This particular ad- though? It’s just pretty damn catchy in its horribleness. At first he was mocking. Then, slowly, after the fifth play, he thought that yes, while annoying as fuck, maybe the ad had a point?  
  


When was the last time his lover’s had gone on any kind of vacation? Even if it was just a small weekend trip?

They've both been decently busy as of late. They deserve one. He could have them on a first-class flight by dinner if he wanted and they were willing. By the seventh time the ad repeats- he also can’t help but notice that Vegas (the destination it keeps mentioning) is a lot of fun. And he knows that there is something there for all three of them to enjoy. 

To be honest, he _loves_ trips. Also, conveniently, tomorrow is Johnny’s birthday. He loves trips. He loves Johnny. Johnny _also_ loves trips. The ONLY logical outcome of this is to take Johnny (and Bobby, of course) on a trip. It’s so clear cut to Daken! It’s the ONLY way to ensure that Johnny has a wonderful birthday. He _deserves_ it and Daken is going to give it to him. So, he purchased three first-class tickets on the first reasonably timed flight he could. He’s very proud of this gift. He thinks this is very thoughtful. Something Johnny will be crazy over! Happily choosing to ignore the fact that the two of them had gotten into an argument about birthday presents a while back. 

He’s going to give his lover a good birthday gift if it kills him. (Him being Daken, of course, not Johnny.) 

Daken’s new life is all because of Johnny and Bobby’s willingness to help him live it.  
They deserve NOTHING but the best. And Daken will give them nothing but the best. With his riches and time, Daken will spare no expense to show them what they mean. And as previously mentioned, Daken can get materialistic at times. Gift-giving is a very strong love ‘language’ for him. 

If he wants to show his lover how much he loves him on his birthday by on the fly surprise first-class tickets to Vegas…. Why shouldn’t he? He has the means. He has the time.  
What could be a downside here? 

Besides, it’s this kind of spontaneity that makes them love Daken!

...Or at least, one of the reasons he tells himself that excuses his behavior. 

Pleased with himself, he rolls onto his side in their shared bed, smelling their scents and missing them ever so slightly- while starting to text them both and get them back here before their flight. 

Johnny is a little slow at replying, but eventually replies to a rather ‘generous’ physical bribe With an eggplant.  
Very cute. 

He’s thinking of a proper response when Bobby responds to his generic opening text with a “why did I know this would be from you?” 

He smirks while texting a very well thought out reply saying how he’s lonely and it's too hot and too sweaty. 

Then to sweeten the pot. As it were, he may have said something about a blow job and a naughty joke about popsicles.

Bobby’s response is much quicker than Johnny’s when he asks if that’s a time-sensitive offer.  
Daken’s tempted to respond with a very unreasonable time when he hears the front door unlocking.  
Sneaky bastard made it to the door without Daken scenting him. He usually knows when someone is approaching the door as soon as they exit the elevator. He quickly decides to make his lounging just a tad sexier, being sure to position himself just so and have the sheets ever so suggestively draped over him. 

He can scent Bobby’s ‘excitement’ easily. Though he’s not even made it to the bedroom to see Dakent yet- he seems just a tad hot and bothered. 

Perhaps because of a certain popsicle joke? 

  
The front door opens and shuts and Daken can hear Bobby putting his keys on the hook by the door and locking the front door behind him.  
Safety is always Bobby’s number one concern at the most inappropriate of times. Daken loves this but it is also truly vexing. 

“You can stop texting, you big baby!” Bobby calls, cheerfully from the door. His voice is always happy and light. Daken can’t stand it when it’s not. Having been someone who caused Bobby a lot of unhappiness in the past, he can say he has the authority on what sounds the best. “It’s not even that hot!” 

“To you!” Daken responds. 

“You are such a baby.” Bobby taunts, coming into the bedroom and tossing his wallet onto the rectangular dresser by the closet. 

This is important to note- Daken did not care for large vertical dressers. He wanted a smaller, yet wider, one. Hence the horizontal rectangle as opposed to the more common vertical ones. This one happens to be special ordered so that there are three drawers across the top and three more below- making sure that everyone has a top, middle, and bottom drawer. This is also important to Daken as it is a key part of his system of clothing organization and saves him time. 

Bobby is dressed in his tight leather uniform. The leather one is admittedly Daken’s favorite. Not that Bobby can’t pull off spandex… Daken just prefers him in leather.  
The chest is red and the sides are black, the shorts- though that hardly describes them- cut off at his knees and he is wearing some ridiculously hideous yellow boots that clash with literally all of the above perfection. 

“Sexy uniform,” Daken says, raising an eyebrow.  
  


“Thanks.” Bobby grins. “My boyfriend helped me pick it out.” 

“He must have a very good eye for fashion.” 

Bobby laughs,” Most of the time.” 

“Can’t help but notice the boots though, dear. Were you wearing those this morning? Surely I would have stopped you from leaving the house like that.” 

“Why do you always hate my boots?” He laughs as he shrugs out of them, kicking them to the dresser. 

Daken grins. “ Hate’ is pretty generous. Try ‘loathe entirely’. I want to burn them on sight.” 

“Don’t you dare burn my boots,” Bobby says. “I’ll buy fifty pairs and wear them everywhere.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Daken says, while playfully, he is still almost genuinely horrified at the idea of his lover walking around in these monstrosities every time they’re out and about. 

“Oh, but I would,” Bobby ‘threatens’. “To dinner. To the movies. To the mall…”  
  
“You’re killing me.” Daken puts his hand to his chest, overdramatically closing his eyes. 

Bobby moves closer to the bed- standing at the foot. “Ya know, for a guy who’s dying of heatstroke- you’re awful mouthy to your brave and valiant rescuer. Kinda makes a guy think that maybe- just maybe- you were a bittttt dramatic with your texts.” Bobby stands with his hands on his hips- looking the part of ‘teacher’ while still being in the ever so pleasing leather costume. 

There’s a lot to take in right now. 

Daken’s just enjoying looking at him knowing that he may be getting quite up close and personal soon. 

To be honest, when Daken first interacted with the x-men, he didn’t have an opinion of Bobby. Of course he was attractive, but Daken rarely goes around telling random enemies how hot they are. Besides, in those first confusing years, he was all about going after Logan. It took the news of Bobby coming out to make Daken take note. 

He’s cute- everyone says it. Bobby’s got those soft chocolate eyes that can lower the defenses of anyone- Daken included. He can’t really grow a beard- which is fine by Daken and Johnny as they prefer clean-shaven faces. Chiseled face, gentle eyes, and dirty blonde hair that is either styled to perfection or completely out of control (In Daken’s opinion). Recently, Bobby’s cut it short again- but… it’s cute and Daken never minds being the only one with ‘long’ hair. 

X-men, Avengers, Fantastic Four, ‘Other’ (aka Daken) - they all do insane amounts of physical activity. They start as teenagers and by their early twenties these individuals are carved out of stone. Greek sculptors couldn’t have made a work anywhere as perfect. The thing Daken likes about Bobby though- are his arms. Shoulders too, of course. But really- the way he looks… it’s that “innocent’ boy next door who takes his shirt off once and ends up bedding the entire cheer squad. 

Bobby doesn’t even realize how attractive he is. Daken imagines that he just continues to view himself as that same goofy kid he was once upon a time. Sure, he knows he’s changed but he doesn’t value himself enough to understand that when people are staring at him- it’s not because of any reaction to their PDA. It’s because he’s hot. Daken will honestly never stop trying to tell him that. It finds it a shame that some people just can’t admit that they are something to be envied. 

“It’s the damn heat,” Daken says smugly. “It’s got my head ten kinds of fucked up.” 

“Oh yea,” Bobby says thoughtfully while snapping his fingers a few times as if he’s trying to force himself to recall something. “Ya know I think I read somewhere that if you expose brats to heat for too long they’ll get fussy.” 

“Fussy?” Daken leans forward, slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. “I’m overheated! Not ‘fussy’!” 

Bobby’s grin turns smug as he’s pulling out his cellphone from an ever so clever hidden pocket. He clears his throat pointedly, scrolling up for a moment. “I’m so hot, I’m dying. I’m dead. You’re reading the words of a dead man.” He reads. “There’s sweat everywhere.” He raises an eyebrow, looking over to Daken. “If you don’t come and cool me off, I’ll die. I mean it. I’m dying. It’s too hot. I’ll melt. My brain will malfunction. I’m going to have a heat stroke.” Bobby lowers the phone. “And this was just from two messages. So can we agree that maybe you were a bit overdramatic, hmm?” 

Daken finds himself unable to suppress a grin and go for the ‘don’t care’ attitude he wants to portray. “I’m in my seventies, you know.” He says. “Heatstroke is a pressing concern of mine.” 

“Oh I’m sure,” Bobby says. “But, fear not you spoiled baby. Your knight in icy armor has arrived.” He spreads his arms in a “Ta-da” fashion, turning in a small circle “You can start basking in my glory at any time.” 

Daken looks him up and down. "My hero.” He starts to ever so gently shift his body posture to underline some of his intent here. “How will I ever repay you?” He sits up fully- letting the sheets slide down his chest and pool around his waist. 

A little trick that fairly few people know is that sometimes-partial nudity can be far more sexual than full nudity. Yes- they’re naked, very much so. But that small scrap of skin that is concealed? It just adds to the mystery. 

Daken uses this to his advantage as nudity doesn’t shock anyone in this house. Whether he’s alone or with his lovers, in their home he rarely wears pants. Why should he deprive the world of his beauty? 

Especially in this lovely environment that he’s crafted within this home. 

The lights are just that perfect quality that illuminates but never overpower- the floors are clean and the furniture is pristine. White leather couch and accompanying armchairs- all bigger than the usual model but not too noticeably so. Everything from the glass light fixtures to the legs to the dining table, Daken has chosen personally. Any wooden surface is somehow stained black, any cloth surface is white, and the miscellaneous items are strewed between the full spectrum of color. 

The bedroom is not profiting from that oh so perfect lighting slightly due to the power outage, at the moment, so he’s making do. The only light that isn’t coming from the open bedroom door via the windows letting in daylight behind Bobby, comes from Daken’s phone. Granted- the bedroom lights wouldn’t be on anyway at this time of day. Daken keeps odd hours quite frequently and prefers to keep the blackout shades drawn during the day. Bobby and Johnny aren't home much during the days here lately, so they don't care much one way or the other. 

Their room, like their couch and chairs, is large enough to accommodate three people comfortably. There’s not as much overcrowding as one would assume poly relationships cause. Their home honestly doesn’t look as if it’s specially crafted for them- it just looks like a nice apartment. No one notices the odd sizing unless they know what they’re looking for. All of these details are subtle that they are easily, and commonly, missed. 

A slightly bigger couch. A slightly larger than usual shower. Maybe a slight excess of food than most households. All easy to overlook. The less subtle things are the multiple duplicates of cars and house keys- enough so one person out the three always has them at any given time. The larger than ‘needed’ laundry room that seems to be almost constantly overwhelmed with laundry is a room that stands out- but what can they do about that? They’re superhumans, they need a wide variety of items washed repeatedly during the week, and bloodied clothing is a factor that they take into account with as much care as possible as if said blood gets on the couches or carpet- Daken will go mental. 

Though, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. This lifestyle is so extreme to some and yet…. So normal. Do people not understand how much easier things are when you have two lovers at your back? Do they never experience the rapture that is falling into multiple arms after a long day? 

….Daken just doesn’t get it. 

He theorizes that his inability to understand people’s reservations is equal to their ability to have said reservations. 

Polyamory is a hard concept for some to grasp at face value and he gets that. The idea can be slightly ‘off-putting’ to those less informed. There is a constant stereotype that people seem to have about Poly couples. As if their bedroom is a never-ending parade of lovers or they’re involved in endless orgies and other such acts of depravity. And maybe, for some, it is. What Daken understands more than the people who make these snap judgments is that everyone does and sees things differently. It’s just how it goes. He’s willing to give them a little leeway.  
What he is NOT willing to do, however, is allow them to talk down to his lovers or assume that the relationship the three of them share is less valid than a ‘normal’ relationship. Daken tries to be as patient as he can with both of his lover's friends and family and their various stages of acceptance/tolerance. He at least attempts to politely clear up any misconceptions they may have that is detrimental to their acceptance of either Bobby or Johnny. Their worth will not be questioned- ever. They will not be talked down to. They will not be excluded from the ‘married’ talk. 

Daken doesn't care if anyone accepts him in this regard-it doesn't bother him. But they will absolutely treat his lovers with the respect they deserve... or take three claws to the chest. 

Within the last week, Daken’s had a few ‘tiffs’ with Bobby’s father. He was supposed to go and collect some documents or another from his mother, who is semi-okay with Daken. However, he ended up sitting with Bobby’s father waiting for her to arrive at their home and it was… less than pleasant. Stiff and formal at first until the man decided to go full force into asking when Bobby would ‘grow out of this phase’ and ‘settle down with a nice girl’. He wants grandkids, after all.  
Completely ignoring the fact that there are several avenues they could take in regards to children- none of which they want to- the man routinely invalidates his son’s sexuality.  
This isn’t a ‘phase’. This isn’t something Bobby will ‘grow out of’. 

And it drives him insane every time the asshole says it. 

By the time Madeline arrived, the two men were in separate rooms very much not talking. 

The fallout leads to a very long and heated phone call to Bobby that did not seem to go the way his parents intended. Mainly because Daken decided to become ‘too supportive’ and apparently sucking your boyfriends dick while his mom bitches him out is just ‘unsettling’.  
(Though it didn’t stop Bobby from cuming, so Daken counts it as a win.) 

Daken’s week was further uprooted by the injury he sustained this week that’s gotten him ‘laid up in bed’. He didn’t want to go help the x-men on that day but…. Laura asked.  
He can’t tell her no. He wants to. He tries to. But he can’t.  
His little sisters, like his lovers, deserve the best. And just like he does with his lovers, Daken will be sure that they receive just that.  
The best. 

For the last few days, he’s been inside. Working and dicking around in a semi sort of rotation. 

Mostly though, regardless of what he tries- he’s been bored.  
Really. Really. REALLY bored. 

Much like Daken being in a bad mood is something to avoid, him being bored is also not a great state of mind for him. He gets creative. You do not want Daken to have time to sit around and get creative. At least not without supervision. 

To combat this plague of boredom, Daken has stripped, washed, and replaced their bedding a total of four times this week. Two times yesterday and two the day before. He’s trying to decide the perfect bedroom look. One, because he likes nice things, and two, because he’s hoping to talk Bobby and Johnny into making a little video one day soon.  
  
What can he say? He likes watching videos of them together. He’d like one to keep for entertainment while they’re oh so busy. 

The comforter set he’s settled on (for now) is a heavy and thick gray from one of those ‘multiple pieces’ sets. You know, the sets that come with the matching sheets and pillowcases, a few of those decorative pillows? One you would get at Belk or JC Penny. Though it was bought discreetly online on Johnny’s debit card and all receipts boxes and traces of those boxes were shredded as soon as they were opened. He will NOT be admitting that he’s sleeping on a 60 dollar bed set.  
Not now, not ever. 

The comforter’s thickness has done nothing to help cool the rapidly heating unairconditioned apartment. BUT- this? This is also something to be used to his favor. Leaving the blanket on has made his skin hotter. Which means Bobby will have to touch more of it to cool him. This means he has every opportunity and excuse to lay on the charm and work Bobby into his way of thinking before he enlightens him on their upcoming trip. So he keeps the blankets on and the sheets ever so perfectly draped, showing his lover just what he has in store for him- or at least, giving some very intense hints. 

“Hmm. We can work some kind of payment plan out, I’m sure.” Bobby says, ever so discreetly checking out Daken’s state of ‘undress’. Daken can almost feel his ‘tension’ mounting. 

Daken cocks his head to the side, squinting a little. “You know we could work it out faster if you were to come cool me down….” 

“Oh yeah?” Bobby laughs. “And how do you want me to do that?” 

This? This is an opening. Daken’s not sure if Bobby meant to give it, but it’s here now and Daken would be stupid to waste it. He stares his lover in the eyes- knowing he’s prettying every ounce of intent in his own.“...I want you to crawl in bed and run your hands over every available inch of me.” He says, voice dropping into an almost purr. 

There’s a small pause where he can see the reaction to his words ripple across his lover’s face. “...only the available ones?” Bobby asks, now openly and pointedly staring him over. 

“One way to find out,” Daken says, cocking an eyebrow. 

Bobby seems to shift his weight from foot to foot for a second- as if he’s really ‘considering’ his options. “Mmm. The most tempting offer I’ve heard in days.” Bobby says, lowering himself to the mattress, sitting at the very end of the bed. 

Daken chuckles. “I hope you’re not getting very many of these offers at work, Mr. Hero. That seems counterproductive.” 

“Counterproductive?” Bobby asks with a grin, slowly, ever so slowly, crawling to the head of the bed. “I think that’s only you, babe.” He says, now positioned over Daken, as he leans down and kisses his lips. 

Daken is smiling when he pulls back. “And what are you implying? That I”m somehow …”  
  
“Distracting?” Bobby kisses his cheek. “Devastatingly sexy?” He kisses down to Daken’s neck. 

“Mm. tell me more.” Daken says, closing his eyes.  
  
Bobby leans down ever so close to his face as if he’s going to kiss him but instead lays his lips on his jaw, kissing and nipping while exhaling a gust of freezing air over his skin, which is something Daken was not anticipating and gets a surprised gasp from him. Bobby takes that as an invite to start kissing and ‘freezing’ his way down Daken’s body- pulling off blankets and sheets as he goes, stopping at his hip bone, and grinning. “Cool enough?” 

“...Almost.” He says with a coy smile, trying to pretend as if Bobby being so close to his hardening dick doesn’t excite him. 

“Good.”Bobby completely ignores the erection he’s purposely caused and comes back to the head of the bed, laying back into the pillows and motioning for Daken to join him. 

“Really?” Daken scoffs.  
  
Bobby’s eyes are wide with ‘shock’. “What?” 

“What do you mean ‘what’?” 

“I mean that I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His smug expression says differently.  
  
Bobby looks at him with those large brown puppy dog eyes- a dancing mischief behind them. 

“You’re just going to leave me like this?” Daken gripes.  
  
“Hey, if you have a hard time not getting turned on by a sexy hero saving you from heatstroke- that’s your problem.” Bobby taunts. “Besides…. “ He holds his hand to Daken again, wiggling his fingers slightly. “Come here.” he groans, keeping his arm out until Daken lays on his chest as he wants. “Hank said to be careful with you. Your ribs broke pretty bad, you know.” 

“I know how they broke,” Daken says with a scowl. “And I already told you- I’m fine.”  
  
Bobby starts to run ice-coated fingertips over Daken’s stomach and chest- finally moving to his neck and starting to gently play with his hair that’s hanging loose. He leans over slightly and kisses the shaved side of Daken’s head, smirking. “Don’t ever cut this,” he says. “Ever ever.” 

“Ever?” Daken smirks, head against Bobby’s chest- close enough to catch the lingering scent of at least ten people he knows and a thousand others he doesn’t. 

“Ever,” Bobby repeats, working his fingers up to Daken’s scalp, running the long strands through his fingers without encountering a single knot or tangle. “Your hair feels so smooth and silky- always. Love it.” 

“That’s called conditioner, darling.” Daken laughs. “You know, that bottle in the shower that I keep telling you and Johnny to use that the two of you avoid like toxic waste?” 

Bobby is quiet for a second before saying, “Nah.” 

“‘Nah’?” Daken repeats.  
  
Bobby nods. “Look at my hair.” He says. “It doesn’t need to be all sexy silk and ‘edgy’. It’s short.” 

“Ugh. You did not just call my hair ‘edgy’.” Daken scoffs. 

Bobby laughs, motioning to him. “I mean… come on babe. It’s a mohawk but not a mohawk because it’s long and flat and it’s just edgy.” He grins widely, even more so as Daken scowls at him. “It’s a sexy edgy!” 

“‘Sexy edgy’ my ass,” Daken grumbles- mood ever so slightly soured. 

Bobby sighs in an overdramatic and ‘long-suffering’ way. “You changed the subject, by the way. How are your ribs?” 

Daken walks through the last few minutes of their conversation ever so carefully. “I…. think you changed the subject.” 

“If I did, I can promise you that you made me do it.” Bobby chuckles. “Answer the question. How are the ribs?” 

There’s a small silence as Daken starts to arrange the answers he needs to say and how he needs to say them in regards to getting Bobby and Johnny on that outbound plane in a few short hours. “I mean, they don’t hurt much.” He says. 

“Yea? That’s good.” Bobby nods happily. 

Daken smiles ever so slightly. “Did you know that getting away from the home and office can help people heal faster?” 

Bobby stares at him, catching Daken’s ever so ‘coy’ glance he’s giving him while laying against his chest. “That is a very interesting factoid. And random. But random in a way that makes me think it is not random at all.” 

“...I don’t know why you would say that.” Daken says, his voice ‘shocked’. “It’s just something I saw online a few weeks back. Thought it was interesting.”  
  
“Riiiiight,” Bobby says. 

“Really! You know how I keep interesting things in mind.” Daken offers in a weak ass defense. 

“Right right,” Bobby says- sounding as if he already knows what Daken is going to pull. “What exactly have you been up to in here? Besides ‘dying from heatstroke’.” He uses air questions in a decently ‘cute’ manner. 

Daken shrugs. “Nothing.” 

“...you’ve done nothing for five hours?” Bobby says in semi genuine shock. “Nah. I don’t buy that. You can’t do ‘nothing’ for more than an hour and you know it.” 

“I can do nothing for several hours, thank you very much,” Daken says, slightly heated. 

“Riiiiiiight,” Bobby repeats- still in that ever so maddening tone of disbelief. 

“What have YOU done for the past five hours?” Daken retorts- sounding more than a little annoyed. 

He loves Bobby and he loves this whole situation- but the man is not getting where he needs him to be. And he can only get Johnny where he needs to be if he’s got Bobby where HE needs to be. 

Daken finds them impossible to plan for at times just because they’re wild cards thrown into any plan he ever tries to make. 

“...I was at work?” Bobby says- confused as to why Daken’s asking.  
  
“...oh.” Daken feels stupid ever so slightly. That response was… childish and out of character. He wanted to go for sexy and Bobby took a surprise left and turned goofy. Now he’s got to somehow get him back to sexy. 

“Uh-hmm. What are you working on here, baby? You’ve got that look in your eyes. That crazy look.”  
  
“What do you mean ‘Look’ in my eyes?” Daken scoffs- yet again. “I don’t have ‘looks’.” 

“Oh yes you do.” Bobby laughs. “You have that one,” He points to Daken. “That one right there. Your crazy look. You’re either gonna ask for something outrageous, do something outrageous, or initiate insanely pleasurable actions that I honestly don’t know how to describe. I’m hoping for the third, but…. I know it’s probably the first or second.”  
  
Daken pauses for a long moment- a moment that he’s taught Bobby to not interrupt. 

Here, Daken has very few chances. Yes- he wants something. Okay, he wants two things. Obedience and sex. But not in the creepy obedient sex way. He wants Bobby’s compliance with the getaway and he also wants to have some good pre-trip fucking. 

He shrugs, going quiet for a long three minutes before asking “How was work?” 

Bobby looks at him in equal parts disbelief and amusement. “You’re not going to answer me? Really? Oh now I have to know what you’ve been into.” 

Daken looks at him oh so innocently and says, “I’m just asking how work was.”  
  
“After completely ignoring my question and changing the topic,” Bobby says with a great deal of scrutiny behind his words. 

“I haven’t done anything,” Daken says defensively. “Honest.” 

And he hasn’t. 

Anything bad- that is. How bad can buying the three of them a surprise vacation be? That is generous and loving no matter how you look at it. 

Bobby just looks at him with a ‘really’ look on his face. Daken stays strong and determined. This is his game. This is always his game. And he can win it- no matter who he’s playing against. 

“....you avoiding the work question makes me a little suspicious that YOU’VE done something.” 

“Oh no, you don’t.” Bobby chuckles. “You’re not wiggling out of this one. You’ve done something. What is it?” 

Daken remains stubbornly silent.  
  
“Come on,” Bobby says. “Tell me.” 

Daken pointedly looks away from him. 

“Tell me.” He presses playfully, taking Daken carefully by the chin and turning his head back to him. “What’d you do?” 

“Nothing.” Daken huffs. 

“Daken.” Bobby says ‘sternly’.  
  
“I didn’t do anything.” Daken semi snaps. 

There’s a small pause before Bobby sighs pointedly and says, “If you don’t tell me what you did, I can’t tell you what I WANT to do to you.” 

Daken is always one to recognize a bribe. It’s his thing. 

However, when it comes to turning down Bobby Drake’s bribes, he’s not so good at it. 

“Oh?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

They stare at each other in a moment of equally assured stubbornness before Daken concedes with a, “Okay- I did do something.”  
  
“Called it.” Bobby laughs. “What’d you do?” 

“.... I wanted to get Johnny a birthday present.” Daken says.  
  
“That’s sweet,” Bobby says encouragingly. “What’d you get him?” 

“An experience,” Daken says, using actual phrasing from the ad. “One he’ll never forget.” 

Bobby’s gaze becomes just a tad nervous. “Yea? And what ‘experience’ are you giving him?” 

Daken knows that he’s possibly going to lose Bobby if he doesn’t sweeten the pot here. “One we can all enjoy together.” 

Bobby inhales before saying ever so quietly, “Daken baby, I love you so much, but I’m super tired and if you’ve got something to tell me, please just tell me outright. I love you, I love teasing with you, but I’m getting tired.” 

Daken has to agree that he has been beating around the bush perhaps a little too long here. 

“Fine.” He huffs. “Do you remember when Johnny said he didn’t want to do anything for his birthday but I said we were and then he said we weren’t and then you told us to stop arguing in Chili’s? Daken says, all in one breath.

Daken can see Bobby taking a second to replay that sentence due to how fast Daken said it. 

He seems to be focusing when he replies with, “.....I remember it a little less in-depth than that but, yea. I remember you and Johnny arguing in Chili’s.” 

“Okay- good,” Daken says. “So I decided that Johnny and You, for that matter, are completely overworked here lately and that really if you think about it, Johnny’s exhaustion would have led to him not thinking clearly when making his birthday plans.” 

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?” 

“Vegas,” Daken replies happily. 

“...what?” Bobby’s confusion makes Daekn smile more. 

“You asked where I was going with this. Vegas. Vegas is where I’m going with this.” He quickly grabs his cell and pulls up the digital receipt/boarding pass. “And the tickets are nonrefundable.”

Bobby takes the phone from him, scrolling through it. “Okay…. So when is this nonrefundable trip planned for exactly?” 

“Now.” Daken’s grin widens. “Flight leaves in four hours. Surprise!”

Perfect delivery, in Daken’s mind. 10 out 10 stars. 

Bobby however, isn’t smiling. “Are you serious?” He asks, not so cheerfully. 

“I am completely one hundred percent serious,” Daken says. 

“Baby please, please tell me you didn’t waste a lot of money to plan a trip that we may not even be able to go on due to scheduling conflicts that you wouldn’t know about because you thought it through-” 

“That’s the entire point, Bobby.” He interrupts. “It’s a surprise. That makes it fun.” 

Bobby closes his eyes and Daken can tell that he’s pretty annoyed- which is honestly not a reaction he was expecting really. “I know you like to shower us with gifts, Daken, and we love it so much. But don’t you think this is… just a tad impulsive?” 

“It’s a surprise. Surprises are supposed to be impulsive. ” Daken says defensively

“Baby, you can’t be this impulsive anymore. You get that right? You have roots now. Like we talked about? Remember?” 

Daken closes his eyes and tries to reign in this unknown mix of emotions he’s trying to process. “It’s just a weekend.” He says. “I just wanted to do something nice.” 

There’s genuine hurt in his voice- he’s not as tough as nails with his emotions around Bobby and Johnny as he used to be. 

“It’s very nice, Daken,” Bobby says. “Really really nice. But it’s impulsive. You bought those tickets without knowing if our schedules would fit or about to return them if we couldn’t make it.” 

Now he’s less hurt and more annoyed. 

Now? Now he can slip into his more… ‘bratty’ ways and start to try and get just what he wants. 

“Johnny’s birthday is tomorrow!” Daken whines- literally whines. “Let’s go get him drunk and then let him snort coke off a stripper’s ass.”

Bobby’s first reaction is to laugh so suddenly that the sound is almost obnoxious to hear. "Okay- I know you’re being ‘funny’ Daken, but that sounds like the least appealing thing I can imagine. I mean…. Snorting near anyone’s ass doesn’t seem like a good idea... But a stripper’s ass? That just sounds a little dangerous.” 

Success. Bobby’s laughing. 

Daken loves when Bobby laughs for two reasons; 1, it means he’s happy and 2, it means that Daken is going to get his way. 

“Of course you don’t find it sexy,” Daken says playfully. “You’ve gone full homo. Johnny and I still have a weakness for ass and tits.” He smirks in that way that he knows makes Bobby weak in the knees. 

“You know I don’t like that word…” Bobby shakes his head disapprovingly but grins seemingly despite himself. “But you’re so cute when you say it.” 

“I’m cute at all times,” Daken says. “Please come with me to vegas. Please, please, please?” He starts to kiss and nip at Bobby’s neck and ears.  
  
“You’re cheating.” He hisses, closing his eyes. 

“Am I?” Daken asks smugly. “It’s Friday. School’s out. You can take off for a weekend, can’t you?”  
  


Bobby groans when Daken pulls away. “I mean…. Yes, technically. I can.” 

“...so no problem?” Daken asks with a smile.  
There’s a slight pause before Bobby says, “Okay- yes. I have no obligations and ….”  
  
“And?”  
  
Bobby rolls his eyes. “And I told Jean and Scott that I was having an issue with you at home so I could get the weekend off already.” 

“......and you’ve been giving me shit anyway????” Daken growls. 

“Hey- just cause I took a few days off doesn’t mean I want to go hop on a plane and go somewhere hours away-”  
  
“I got a hotel room,” Daken says. “With a big bed… and a nice view…..” He leans his head up and kisses his lover ever so gently. “We can fuck and watch the sunrise at the same time…. “Runaway with me, Bobby.” He smirks. “You know you want to.” 

Bobby exhales loudly. “I’m not saying yes, but it’s not for me. So run it by Johnny and see what he thinks. But I can promise you he’s going to say no. So don’t get all smug.” 

"OH I promise he won’t." Daken taunts as he reclaims his discarded cell and scrolls through his contacts, pushing Johnny’s and waiting patiently.  
  
“Put it on speaker,” Bobby says. “I wanna hear this.” 

Daken obliges silently, devoting all of his attention to the conversation he’s going to have. 

The third ring Johnny answers with an ever so sarcastic, “Yes, my darling crowned prince of boredom?” 

Daken smirks at the nickname. “You wanna know what I got you for your birthday?” He says, skipping the greeting. 

There's a small pause, allowing Daken to hear a lot of Johnny's background. He's driving- on his way home, hopefully. And even more hopefully, staying out of that gridlocked street down there. 

“Something very low key and reasonable?” Johnny says in a way that hints he knows it’s not going to be. “Ya know- like we talked about?” 

“Oh yes,” Daken says. “It is very reasonable.” 

“Reasonable in a non-extravagant way?” Johnny asks, tone already one of suspicions and disbelief. 

"Of course.” Daken says. 

"Not!" Bobby laughs. 

“Shush,” Daken says pointedly. 

“Oh I see- we're on a conference call, huh? You two double-teaming me?"

“Yes,” Daken says smugly.  
  
“No.” Bobby disagrees. “I told him no.” 

“But it’s not for him,” Daken says glaring at him. 

“.....so you’re not going to double team me then?” Johnny asks very suggestively. 

"Nah- not until you get home," Bobby says smugly. 

Johnny chuckles. "Definitely take you up on that. Today sucked.” 

“Awh. Sorry babe.” Bobby says. “Anything we can do to make it up to you?” 

“...like take you on an awesome birthday surprise?” Daken asks.  
  
“...I was thinking more along the lines of a blow job.” Bobby laughs. 

“That sounds incredible,” Johnny says. “I‘ll take two.” 

“....but what will Daken do during the second?” Bobby asks, quite suggestively.  
  
“Oh, I can think of quite a few things, don’t worry.” 

Daken waits impatiently while they go back and forth for the longest three to four minutes of his life. "Ugh. Stop flirting and listen to me!" He finally demands, talking over a very interesting discussion of flavored lubes. 

Both of his lover’s go silent for just a second before laughing at him- which is both cute and annoying. 

Occasionally yes, when there are three people, two will be against one in certain situations. While this is a very small one, Daken doesn’t appreciate it. 

"Geesh babe, could you sound any brattier right now?" Johnny teases. 

"I have something to tell you!" He growls, "And you're not letting me!" 

"Sorry, sorry," Bobby says, kissing his cheek while continuing to laugh. "I’ll be good.” 

Well- that’s one apology.  
Now? 

"...." Daken waits in annoyance. 

The silence grows before Johnny huffs. “Fine, you big baby. I'm sorry I interrupted. Please continue." 

Big baby?  
Oh no-no-no. 

That is NOT the appropriate response. 

Daken now feels quite spiteful. "I've decided to just tell you when you get home." He says snappishly. 

"Oh don't be like that!" Johnny laughs. "Come on tell me, what'd you do baby?" 

Daken pauses trying to decide if they're repentant enough. 

"I'm gonna have Bobby start spanking you or something if you don't spit it out." Johnny ‘threatens’.

"Don't tempt me." Bobby laughs. “He’s looking pretty damn sexy right now. Can’t promise that when he hangs up I won’t turn him over my knee anyway.” 

Now they’re going to start flirting again. 

While it’s cute and sexy, Daken needs them focused.

"I decided we should go to Vegas.” He says, being sure to speak in a way that gets both of their attention. 

“Are you serious?” There’s a long moment of silence before Johnny continues with, “What ... Like… Vegas - Vegas?”

“Yes.” Daken says ever so cheerfully.“Doesn’t it sound fun?”

Johnny pauses again. “Like ‘get drunk and snort coke off a Stripper’s ass Vegas’ Vegas?” 

“Yes!” Daken says triumphantly. “Exactly!” He nudges Bobby with his elbow. "Told you he'd get it." 

“HOW is that a universal concept of Vegas????” Bobby scoffs in disbelief. 

“He doesn’t get it,” Daken says. “He can’t enjoy the sophisticated worlds of stripper’s asses.” 

Bobby groans. “We’re just going to ignore the fact that you’re both talking about taking coke- huh?” 

“...I think it’s more about the ass.” 

Bobby pops Daken’s thigh, his hand resting in the man’s lap. “Watch it, mouthy.” 

Johnny laughs at Bobby’s ‘reaction’ before saying, “I mean… I’d be down- I guess. It could be fun. Could give me something to look forward to. When do you want to go?” 

“Today,” Daken says without hesitation. 

“.....what?” 

“Today,” Daken repeats. “You said yes already- so no backing out. Our flight leaves in four hours. I’m packing your bags. Love you, bye!!” he says the last ‘cutely’ but more importantly- quickly and before Johnny can even react. 

“Told you he would say yes,” Daken says, smug as ever. 

“We don’t know what he said- you hung up before he could say it,” Bobby says through laughter. 

“He said ‘yes’. That’s all that matters.” 

Daken is admittedly very happy at the moment. Smiling and starting to decide what they needed to take and where they would go first. Bobby just looks down at him, shaking his head. “I Swear Daken- you are such a handful. What are we gonna do with you?”

Daken raises an eyebrow. “Take me to Vegas- duh.” 

He looks up into Bobby's eyes- watching the man give himself over to the fact that they are in fact, going to Vegas. 

“Ugh. Fine.” Bobby says. “FIne. I told the team I’d be unavailable anyway. Why not celebrate Johnny’s birthday in over the top Daken style?”  
  
Daken kisses his lips chastely. “See? I knew you’d come around.” 

Bobby grins. “Don’t get too cocky here. This isn’t all your doing. Jean and Scott are driving everyone crazy. By the time our flight leaves, I wouldn’t be surprised if all the other x-men don’t get the same idea.” 

Daken has to laugh at the idea of so many high powered mutants just turning tail and running. “What’s so special about this weekend?” He asks. “Some super special x-men holiday bullshit?” 

Bobby laughs. “If only. Scott and Jean have a really important date.” 

“....and?” Daken asks.  
  
“And your dad was supposed to be covering the on-call shifts but he and Nightcrawler took off in the middle of the night and no one can fucking find them. Someone needs to be on call all night and no one is willing to cover your old man’s shift.” 

Daken can’t help but smirk. “What’d Summers do to piss him off?” 

“This most awful crime a man can commit in your dad’s eyes,” Bobby says. 

“Very helpful, love. That narrows it down.” Daken says sarcastically. 

“Scott made the mansion a dry campus,” Bobby says. 

Daken inhales sharply. “Ouch.” 

Bobby nods, tightening his arm around Daken. “Yea. Ouch. So he and Kurt just up and left. N warning. NO note. And of course, they’re not answering calls.” 

There’s a small pause before Daken smiles, “You know what this is, right?” 

“What is?” 

Daken raises an eyebrow. “The old man took his boy toy out of town and away from prying eyes so they can do their ‘bonding’ bullshit.” 

“Why do you always say that?” Bobby laughs. “Trust me- there isn’t anything there. I would know right? I’ve only known them for over a decade.” 

Daken does a semi shrug. “I’m just telling you what I know. There is something there and they’re honestly not very good at covering it up.” 

Bobby laughs again- loudly at that. “Come on- You can’t be serious. Do you know how Kurt is? There’s no way anything is going on besides cheap beer and spite. I swear.” 

“Right right,” Daken says with a smirk. “That’s why Logan’s car, bed, and shower smells like brimstone.” 

“Okay, wait wait,” Bobby says, holding a hand up. “Now I’m more curious as to why you know what all of those places smell like. I never see you anywhere NEAR Logan’s room.” 

“I know because I went and investigated last time Logan was out,” Daken says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. Those weren’t ‘passing through’ scents, either. They were set in. That means that there are REPEATED visits to all of those places. All conveniently where no one can see. ” 

Bobby shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry to tell you this but your sniffers off on this one, babe. I’ve lived with those two for years. There is NOTHING there.” 

Daken smirks, laughing at his lover’s naivety. “Right. Because you x-men are sooooo good and picking up on gayness.” 

“I spend way more time with them than you do. Trust me. There’s nothing there.”  
  
“If you say so, dear. Just don’t be surprised if one-day you catch these hacks in the act.” 

“....noted,” Bobby says, gently running his hand up Daken’s side. After a small pause he asks, “So …. About that popsicle joke, you made earlier….” 

  
  
  
  
  


“Yea?”  
  


Bobby nods. “Yea. What was that about?” 

Daken bites his bottom lip- both sexy and ‘cute’, the combination Bobby likes. "I think it's more of a joke I'd have to show you for you to get." 

"Oh yeah?" Bobby asks, definitely slipping into a sexier- less goofy tone. “Be sure to go slow so I get it. I’m a slow learner.” 

Daken raises to his knees- moving from Bobby’s chest and sliding between his thighs, making him open his legs and allow Daken access to his torso and everything below. "Get rid of the costume or I'll cut it off." He demands in a whisper. 

"Sir yes, sir." Bobby pushes him back slightly so he can start to shed the leather outfit Daken like so much- going to the very hidden zips and buttons that hold the uniform together. After some awkward shifting, he's seated on the bed, naked. Daken, having already been naked, slowly straddles Bobby's lap, kissing down his chest, running his tongue over his right nipple before nipping at it- causing Bobby to hiss. 

Eventually, as Daken moves, positioning himself level with Bobby's dick, he looks up at the man, locking eyes with him as he swipes his tongue across the tip. 

Blow jobs are something Daken is pretty fucking good at. And something he honestly likes to do well - especially for Johnny and Bobby. 

"MM." Bobby bites his lip and looks down at Daken, raising an eyebrow. "Is that all you got?" 

Daken grins before starting to lick and suck the tip of Bobby's dick, slowly working his tongue down the shaft- licking, and sucking in a way that he bets Bobby's never had. 

Daken works his way back to the tip, smiling up at Bobby's before suddenly taking him fully in his mouth- which causes Bobby to cry out. 

"Oh fuck." He hisses as Daken starts to expertly suck him off. "Fuck." Bobby hisses, unable to stop his hips from lifting from the bed in time with Daken's rhythm. "Baby..." He groans. "Fuck."

His lover's moans are music to his ears. 

Bobby is pretty vocal during blow jobs. IT turns out that though he used to hate vocalization when he was sucking dick- he likes it when Bobby does it. 

Daken starts to go faster- and faster- working him over expertly as Daken has excellent breathing control and no gag reflex. 

"OH FUCK." He cries as Daken's effort doubles. "fuck fuck fuck." 

Daken is licking and sucking and performing better than any porn star he's ever watched in his 70 something years. Bobby's not even able to articulate his thoughts at this point. Daken goes in for the kill, finally making him cum and swallowing it down as he's supposed to. More so- that he thinks he’s supposed to do even though Bobby and Johnny have told him he doesn’t have to. 

Bobby, however? Likes it. 

Bobby falls back to the pillows, looking up at the ceiling as Daken raises up. 

"...Did you swallow?" He asks. 

"Uh-hmm." Again- this is something that’s never occurred to him as ‘extra’. 

Bobby can't stop the shudder that runs over him. "Hot." 

Daken personally never understands why men find swallowing sexy- but it doesn’t bother him any one way or the other. He’s had a lot worse things in his mouth than cum- that’s for sure. 

“I’m going to start packing,” Daken announces, standing up from the bed and moving to their joint closet- leaving Bobby almost boneless on the bed. 

This interaction has gone perfectly. Better than he expected, even. And in the end? Everyone gets something out of it. 

Johnny gets a nice birthday present. Bobby got an amazing blow job…

And most importantly of all? 

Daken got his way. 

  
  



End file.
